Consequences
by ObakeAri
Summary: Alice Rhodes never knew her father, and she was alright with that. But when her mom's dying wish is to find out who she truly is, the small-town girl takes a trip to London to find the one detective who could help her. And she won't leave until Sherlock Holmes answers her questions. Some Johnlock as well.
1. It was an experiment!

Well, I promised myself I would finish the stories I've already started...and then I got BBC-America on my TV network. And in the middle of catching up with Dr. Who, a re-run of the first episode of Sherlock aired the other night. And then I found the other five episodes on Netflix. Well damn...and now I'm also guessing that I won't be finishing my book as soon as I had hoped either. Since I don't know how the writer's are going to explain Sherlock's non-death in Series 3, I'm just going to avoid that plot twist altogether. Exactly where in the story line, I'm starting this, I don't know. It's just an idea that popped into my head so I'm just going to see where this goes...I'm...experimenting, but thankfully I shall not suffer too many consequences (you'll get the joke if you read this XD)

Anyway,

ENJOI

* * *

**Alice**

I never knew my father. For a while, I was alright with that. My mom studied abroad in London, England for a year in college, and during her stay, someone stole her parents' identities and within two months, her entire family was bankrupt. She couldn't afford to stay but couldn't afford a plane ticket home, nor could she afford to finish her college studies. So, she did what she could. Took the jobs she could find, and when you're a young and pretty woman in college, no matter what country you're in, you're bound to find at least several handfuls of clients. That's how she was able to pay her way through college and establish a life for herself before she could hold down a real job. That's also how I was born. I know, it isn't the most glorious or romantic of stories, but I had long accepted that life just loves throwing shit your direction without any second-thought. When I was three, my mom met my stepdad. They fell in love, and I was the flower girl at their wedding four years later.

We lived in a small town of New Mexico and I drove my six-year-old brother and myself to Albuquerque for school just about every day. We lived in the city for several years, but when the economy took a turn for the worst, sometimes it's the mis-matched families that suffer from it the most. Mom didn't want us to change schools, so we moved to a "Motel Central" town in the middle of nowhere off Route 66 and requested that Max and I stayed in the school district. I admit I liked it here better. Mom and Dad opened up a diner off of one of the motels and I spent my evenings and weekends there to help bring in some extra money. It wasn't the easiest of childhoods, but I never had a bad life. I wasn't angry at my mother or my birth father for the cards I had been dealt. It was just how everything happened. I didn't care to know who he was nor did he probably care to know me, and until high school, I was content with that.

I've always been…observant. I tell it like it is, state the facts. I never saw anything wrong with that. Well, apparently there is a lot wrong with that, especially when you walk up to one of the most liked seniors in the school as a freshman and announce to her that despite the sweet and innocent façade she puts on, she has cheated on both her boyfriends. Twice. And not just with the other boyfriend. To be honest, I thought everyone knew! I mean, if you smelled the perfume she wore and saw how perfectly combed and unnaturally healthy her dyed hair was, you would have seen it too!

Well, apparently, I'm either crazy or everyone I have ever known and loved are just remarkably stupid because I was the only one who saw that. After that incident, I found it extremely difficult to ignore the blatant facts which everyone around me seemed to flaunt. It was as if teachers wanted the world to know they were addicted to porn or that the upper classmen were selling drugs. It was as if my so-called friends wanted me to hear every single word they said behind my back.

And then my mom got sick.

I was finishing up my junior year of high school when Dad texted me in the middle of class, demanding that I run up to the attendance window and ask for a pass to leave campus. Normally, parents are supposed to call school and then the attendance window calls you down. Even Dad's texts read like an open book. I was an okay person to him, but he never cared for my antics. He thought I was a little too smart, especially when it came to my science classes. He was also strict; he never let either myself or my brother miss a day of school so to receive such a text meant only one thing: something happened to Mom.

By the time I made it home with Max in tow, the ambulance was already pulling away, its sirens blaring. I hardly remember a thing from that day. Just glimpses. Mom in the hospital bed. Her body convulsing periodically. Doctors taking her away through steel doors to run tests. Sitting in the waiting room for hours. Max crying on my lap. And when the doctor came out, his lips pursed to a fine line but his eyes appeared to show kindness. Dad and Max both made the mistake of thinking those eyes meant everything was alright, but my heart stopped in my chest. His steady hands rubbing against themselves as if he were washing them at the sink and the crease at his brow meant only one thing: he had come to announce her death sentence.

They administered chemotherapy as if the damage the tumor had already done to her brain would be fixed. I watched as her body wasted away to nothing, her eyes sinking into her bald head. She died early in the summer, but before she did, she wanted to make her last moments with me count. She wanted me to find out who I really was.

"Alice," she told me one day, a month before her passing. I sat down on the bedside next to her and tried to give her the water she asked, but she merely turned my offer down. "I regret the shame I put myself through to pay for college, but I don't regret having you."

"I know," I nodded, smiling. As I watched her loving eyes gaze up at me with their undying warmth, I fought to stay strong. She and I both knew she didn't have long. "You did what you had to do, and I'm proud to be your daughter. I just wish…"

"That you were ordinary?" Mom finished as my voice faltered, cracking a smile. I sighed heavily and nodded.

"All I do is cause you trouble, I see things that I shouldn't and point them out as if everyone notices. At the very least, I just embarrass my victim," I groaned. Mom took my hand and laughed.

"Life wouldn't be nearly as exciting if you saw anything less, Allie," she joked. At that, I couldn't help but smile, but it quickly faltered.

"Mom, I'm crazy," I sighed.

"No you aren't, you just take after your father," she offered. At that, I stiffened and looked up at her.

"Excuse me?" I choked out. I had never heard her mention my father before. At least not in reference to the man she had married. "Mom, I thought you didn't know my father."

"I don't," Mom said, "but I have a hunch. If you look in the bottom of the top right drawer of my dresser, you'll find a diary from when I was in college. Writing about my experiences back then helped me get through it. I mentioned all my clients by name and dated each passage. I know it's not much, but with your brains, you should be able to narrow down your search. There was one man I remember distinctly. It was back in London while I was abroad and he only came once. He was a strange man, noticed everything about me. He even told me that the only reason he came to see me was because like him, I took no pleasure in the business I was in. All the other prostitutes who he looked into took at least some joy in spending the night with a handsome young man. I never said a word to him before that night either."

I found the diary as she spoke and sat back down, flipping through the pages. I then looked up at her, confused and asked, "And you're saying that he didn't go to you for pleasure?"

Mom nodded her head, "he said he was…experimenting. He had never had someone before and he didn't understand the pleasure people felt in being intimate. He was a strange man, I have to say. Like I said, he noticed everything about me, knew where I was from and why I was in the position I was in, and yet I hadn't said a word to him. We became acquaintances after that night. He helped me get out of the business and lent me some money to get home. Turns out that he lived on the floor above me in our dorms at school. He was odd, but a genuinely nice man. It seemed as though he didn't understand social norms and he occasionally came off as cold-hearted when really he was more like a lost puppy. You're a lot like him, you know."

I narrowed my eyes, trying to picture the face of the man she spoke of before asking, "What was his name?"

At that, mom sighed heavily, "I wish I could remember. There are gaping holes in my memory nowadays. I even mistook your dad for my high school boyfriend the other night. His name should be in that diary though. You'll know the entry when you see it. And check the date on it too. Allie, I'm sorry."

To this day, I don't know what she was apologizing for, whether it was for her memory loss or the entire situation as a whole, but despite that, I gathered the courage to ask, "Mom? Why are you telling me all of this? You know I'm happy as can be with just you, Max, and Dad."

At that, Mom sat back up, and with more strength than I had seen with her since she got sick, she sat up and grasped onto my hands, looking me intently in the eyes, saying, "Allie, you have done so much for me as a daughter and I cheated you of a normal childhood. I owe it to you, and you owe it to yourself to find out who you truly are. If you were any other person I might settle for not knowing who your father is but let's face it. You were born with a gift that very few people have. You see the world differently, Allie, and you also have a big heart. The doctors might say you suffer from social or mental disability but I don't think so. I think you're just different and I think that is something you inherited, but not from me. You're going to do great things, someday, Alice Rhodes, I just know it. But before you can do that, you need to find out who you are. Would you do that? If not for yourself, for your dying mother?"

With a lump in my throat, I nodded my head, but I didn't open up the diary until a week after her funeral. There were hundreds of entries and names listed in the book; I had no idea where to begin. When Mom said this wasn't a lot to go by, she really wasn't kidding. Sighing heavily, I leaned back in my desk chair and opened up my laptop. I made a promise to my mother that I would found out who I was, and hot damn, I was going to keep that promise. I just needed to know how. I typed in several different words and phrases into the search bar hoping I would come across an article that would help me narrow down my search, but I couldn't seem to find the right word or phrase that stood for what I was doing. Hell, I didn't even know what I was doing.

"Hey Dad?" I asked the next morning as I fried bacon. Max ran back and forth between the kitchen and the living room with a towel tied around his neck. From the corner of my eye, I could see him launch into the air and land heavily on the couch squealing and laughing as he imitated the superheroes on TV.

"Yeah?" Dad replied as he flipped several pancakes. With Mom gone, the exchange between us was fairly awkward. He still saw me as a daughter, but there was the barrier between us with the daunting fact that I wasn't really his. I also found it hard to consider the man my father when I knew someone else was out there with my genes and when Dad's smile lines around his mustache wrote "adores his son" instead of "adores his kids". Of course, the other side of his smile also read, "very fond of his stepdaughter" but that wasn't entirely the same thing.

"I'm trying to find the right word for something," I explained, "what does it mean when you have to narrow down a search from a broad list of things based on facts you already know?"

"Oh, you mean deduction?" Dad offered. I turned my head sharply and eyed Dad with slight confusion. I hadn't really expected him to give me an answer so quickly. Dad was a mathematical genius and engineer. He was great with his hands, but his vocabulary was limited. Plus, the fact that that was the exact word that had been sitting on the tip of my tongue for the past twelve hours only confused me more.

"Yeah," I said, narrowing my eyes, "how did you know that?"

At that, Dad laughed, "I'm not one who has a way with words but I read my fair share of books."

I rolled my eyes and grinned, "you mean your blogs?"

"Well, yeah…but there was this one website I found that I think you'll like. It's entitled the 'Science of Deduction' by a Brit named Sherlock Holmes. His stuff is a bit dry, but he has this colleague named Dr. John Watson that writes all about Sherlock in his blog. It's great stuff, the guy reminds me a little bit of you, only you know what's socially acceptable and what isn't," Dad explained.

"Socially acceptable?" I asked, "Dad, I think you know that I can't tell the difference between what is and what isn't."

At that, Dad let out a hearty laugh, "Allie, when you read about this guy's antics, you'll feel a whole lot better about yourself. You know what's socially acceptable, but you just don't have a filter for your mouth. This guy lacks both. Just look him up. Anyway, what did you need to know what 'deduction' means?"

"Mom gave me a diary of names and she wants me to figure out who my father is," I said quickly before plating the bacon and turning away from Dad as his jaw dropped. Without looking up to face him, I called out to Max, "Breakfast is ready!"

After breakfast, I locked myself in my room the rest of the day and googled "Sherlock Holmes". Sure enough, both his website and Watson's blog popped up as the first two things listed. Though the website was helpful, I got bored scrolling through the crap he had about tobacco and began reading through Watson's blog. And Dad was right, Sherlock Holmes had no idea what the social norms were. Running around his apartment in a bed sheet while skyping poor Dr. Watson to figure out a murder case? Telling children that people don't go to heaven but are burned in a special room after death? This guy was hilarious! As I read more and more cases, I found that I too could think like Sherlock. I could figure out the mysteries behind the mysteries before Dr. Watson even seemed to know where Sherlock was heading. Watson wrote as if Sherlock spoke gibberish when he was solving cases, but his verbal deductions were clear as day to me.

And that's when it hit me.

I fell out of my chair as I scrambled to grab my mom's diary. I was seventeen, but I was also born a week past my mother's due date. I could skim through the journal entries and focus solely on the ones that dated back from nine to ten months before my birth day. I also knew a thing or two about genetics and Mom wrote fairly detailed descriptions about each of her clients. I had blue eyes but my mom had brown eyes, which meant she had to be heterozygous and so my father had to be homozygous recessive, which meant that only men with blue eyes could be my father. I had brown hair and so did my mother, however, my hair was dark enough that it could be assumed that Father's hair was also brown. Mom had a nice golden complexion while I was fair skinned, so anyone with the ability to tan was out of the question. I also had fairly prominent facial features and almost no chin, so thanks to the detail of my mom's description, that narrowed my search down to three people.

And they were all from Mom's study abroad. Groaning, I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. It would take a blood test to figure out which one of the three were my father, but I didn't know where any of them lived and I couldn't afford a plane ticket to out of state, much less out of country. All but giving up, I continued scrolling through Dr. Watson's blog with the diary still on my lap. I hadn't bothered to look at the names of my suspected fathers, but I was surprised to see that the man Mom described to me was one of the three. She wrote about him exactly as she described to me several weeks before. My eyes drifted over to the side of the computer screen. I stared at Dr. Watson's photo. He seemed a good-hearted man but he was obviously an army doctor. I guessed that he served either in Afghanistan or Iraq. I then looked down at the picture below of Sherlock Holmes. He wore a ridiculous hat in the picture but was otherwise difficult for me to read. I had to study him for a long time before I could figure out that he was a lonely individual who enjoyed only the weirdest of cases. He hated his brother who held a high position in the British Government and had very few friends besides Dr. Watson. But that was all I could really see in Sherlock Holmes.

The next thing I noticed were his striking blue eyes. I furrowed my brow and zoomed in on his picture. His face was hidden by the hat and the collar of his coat but there was no mistaking his high cheek bones and dark curly hair. I subconsciously lifted my hand to my own hair. It was straight, but extremely coarse as if it wanted to curl but chose not to.

"Allie, you're crazy," I sighed heavily, sitting back in my chair. I continued reading through Watson's blog entries, trying to get my mind off the thought. Without thinking, I clicked back to Holmes' website to see if there were any other tips he could offer to help me with my own search, and that's when I saw another picture of him.

My jaw dropped and I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was rounder, but our lower jaws were almost exactly the same. I laughed at myself, shaking my head. I was just insane, there was no way that man could be…

But as my eyes drifted down to the diary in my lap, my eyes widened. In one of the last entries which Mom wrote about the bizarre client turned acquaintance, scribbled at the top of the page dated eighteen years ago exactly nine months before my birthday to the date was "Sherlock Holmes"

And thanks to Dr. Watson, I knew exactly where they lived.

* * *

**Sherlock**

Bored. Bored. Bored Oh, he was bored! He needed a case! Sherlock groaned loudly before falling backwards onto the couch, shooting his gun up into the ceiling. Within seconds John came stumbling out of the bathroom half-naked with a towel wrapped around his waist and soap bubbles dancing sporadically about his body.

"What in the bloody hell was that for, Sherlock?" John shrieked. Without even looking at him, Sherlock gave the same answer as always.

"Bored," he sighed heavily. Then, chancing it, Sherlock allowed his gaze to drift over to the man before him. He stared at John for 3.2 seconds, turned away slowly, and sighed. Oh, some days, living with John was…oh, what was the word? Something sentimental and ordinary people used…a blessing? Ah, that seemed close enough. Either way, some days, it was good to be Sherlock. Even if he was bored.

"Well, I would appreciate if you would refrain from shooting our neighbors!" John scolded. Sherlock merely rolled his eyes.

"Oh, John, the flat above us was vacated a week ago. No one lives there now," he explained curtly.

"I wonder why?" John shrugged sarcastically, his eyes drifting up to the bullet holes in the ceiling. That made at least ten now. John let out a heavy sigh and Sherlock risked yet another look. This time it was only 2.5 seconds, but it was more than enough for Sherlock.

If something exciting would happen (preferably a new case), then Sherlock Holmes' day would be complete.

* * *

**Alice**

Okay, Dad was right. I wasn't crazy, I was psychotic.

When I told him my find and what I had planned to do, he nearly died of laughter. He even fell on the floor.

"Alice, you haven't been out of the state, much less the country! And do you really think some fictional detective is your father?" he asked, wiping tears out of his eyes. When I crossed my arms and glared at him, Dad's laughter stopped.

"He's not a fictional character, Dad, he's a real person. I even looked up their address," I explained.

"But Allie, travelling to England to find some guy you think could be your father because he acts like you?"

"He doesn't act like me, he thinks like me," I corrected, "Look, Dad, summer vacation just started and I have three months before school starts to find him. I have almost enough money to buy a round trip but I just need a little extra help. I'll pay you back and I'll keep in touch."

"You're insane, Allie!" Dad suddenly roared, "Do you have any idea how hard your mother and I worked to give you the life that you had? I've tried very hard to fill the void your father left. You're mom put almost all her life insurance to pay for college! And now what? You're just going to throw it all away because you think there's an explanation for why you're different?"

"I'm not throwing it away!" I retorted, "Mom's dying wish was for me to at least find out who my father was and I can't do that unless I meet Sherlock Holmes. Even if he isn't my father, he could at least point me in the right direction. There are two other possible names in the diary and according to Dr. Watson, no one else knows the streets of London better than Holmes. Just let me do this, Dad, for my Mom. Please."

Letting out a heavy sigh, Dad went over and grabbed the checkbook. I couldn't contain my smile when he turned back to me and handed me the check. But my smile fell suddenly when he said with teary eyes, "I hope you find what you're looking for, Allie. If you do find your dad, this should be enough to get you started."

At that, my jaw dropped and my body numbed, "W-what?"

"In a few months, you'll be a legal adult and your mother is gone. I'm not your father, Alice Rhodes, so you can stop pretending that I am. Feel free to come back if you can't find him, but don't call me your dad anymore. From now on, I'm just Josh, okay?" he said. I nodded my head, not sure what to say. Dad—Josh shifted awkwardly on his feet before he sighed and said, "I'll go ahead and book you a flight to London. You can take care of the flight home; just make sure you're back by August 1 if you do come home. Keep me updated and try to get a souvenir for Max, you know he loves that kind of stuff."

I nodded my head again and the next thing I knew I was staggering off an airplane with a severe case of Jet Lag. I didn't trust taxis, but when I went to the rental car center and found the steering wheel on the _right_ side of the car, I swallowed my fear of having my money stolen and hopped in a cab. First thing's first, I had to check into my hotel.

It wasn't even a motel, it was a shack. It was clean but everything in it was older than the neon signs back home! Groaning, I collapsed on my bed, but regretted it when I felt the knot forming on my forehead after it smacked one of the springs in the mattress. This was going to be a long summer break.

Speaking of summer, it didn't even feel like summer! It was cold! Josh told me to pack jeans and some sweat shirts, but this was just ridiculous! I was so used to the desert that the mildest of chills felt like subzero temperatures to me.

What was even worse was despite seeing Mr. Sherlock Holmes on the front page of every newspaper, 221b Baker Street seemed to be nowhere on the maps the front desk had given me. I wandered around London lost for two days with my hands stuffed in my pockets asking every bystander for directions, but just about every person said the same thing:

"Oh, it's just a cab drive away. Beware of Mr. Holmes though, he's a strange fellow."

Yeah. Cab drive away. As if I'm going to trust my money with a stranger carting me all around town. Where I was from, you never gave your money to anyone for transportation unless it was your credit card to the gas pump. I missed my truck…

When I had all but given up on finding Baker Street by myself, I realized that not only was I unable to find Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, but it was the middle of the night and I couldn't find my hotel! Groaning, I waved a taxi and submitted to my fears yet again. The next morning, I flagged yet another taxi and hesitantly hopped into the car.

"Can you take me to 221b Baker Street?" I asked timidly. The elderly taxi driver turned to me and smiled kindly.

"Off to see Mr. Holmes, are we? My, I'm impressed that he's bringing the Americans to his doorstep now!" he said with a jolly voice, "I will warn you, Mr. Holmes has been known for turning down many cases. He doesn't take kindly to the…uninteresting ones."

"Oh, I'm not here for any ordinary case," I explained, my face flushing, "if anything, he'll end up giving me a case…"

"Oh? Well, I can't wait to read that in the papers then," the driver joked. As he pulled away from the curb and we drove through the streets of London, I slowly sunk back into my seat. Well, this seemed easy enough. I looked out the window wondering what I would find when I got there. Was Sherlock Holmes really as Dr. Watson described in his blogs? He certainly matched up Mom's description of the man. Within five minutes, we pulled up to what looked to be a shop with a dark green door standing off to the side. In gold plates, it wrote, "221b".

"Here we are, ma'am!" the driver said. I thanked him as I stepped out, paying the fair. I walked up the steps, my hands stuffed in my pockets. I let out a heavy sigh, either this was the end of my journey or it was only the beginning. Either way, I buried my face into the scarf around my neck and knocked on the door.

* * *

**John**

"SHUT UP!" Sherlock screamed at the top of his lungs. John _had_ been reading a book quietly in his room but when the knock came to the door, he was surprised that his friend hadn't shot at it. Granted, with Sherlock, nothing could really surprise John at this point.

"Sherlock! It's probably just a client!" John called from his room.

"Then you get it! The case is probably boring anyway!" Sherlock retorted. Groaning, John rose to his feet and scampered down the stairs. He caught the girl just as she was beginning to turn away. She jumped and turned back to face John as he opened the door. She was a cute little thing. A slender girl with a round face and high cheek bones, striking blue eyes and short brown hair with pink dyed into the tips of the underlayers. She wore a black blazer and lavender scarf over the blue tank top. Her skinny jeans and carefully decorated cowboy boots told John that she was from another country.

"Hello, are you here to see Mr. Holmes?" John asked, allowing the girl to step in. She stood at the doorstep awkwardly and looked around.

"H-Hi…and yeah, er, yes I am, thank you," she stuttered, taking a step into the flat. John raised an eyebrow. An American? Her accent told John that much, but Americans were coming to see Sherlock now? This was new.

Before John could open his mouth, he heard Sherlock call down the stairs, "Tell her to go away! The case is probably boring anyway!"

John narrowed his eyes and glared up towards the ceiling before he glanced back at the girl. Her face was pale and she opened her mouth, trying to say something but struggled to let the words escape her tongue. Poor thing must have been scared out of her wits.

"Don't mind him," John said quickly, putting a smile on his face. He placed a hand on her shoulder and led her up the stairs, "you've come a long way. Would you like some tea?"

"Just water will be fine, thank you," the girl answered politely, avoiding eye contact. John pursed his lips. What on earth would scare a young American girl and drive her all the way to London to meet Sherlock? As they made it up the stairs, the girl looked up and let out what seemed to be a long held in breath. Sherlock was lying on the couch, his hands placed against his lips as he stared up at the ceiling. John had to hold in a sigh. Even Sherlock had moments when he looked so…serene. But only Sherlock could ruin those moments by opening his mouth.

He turned to eye the girl and his face contorted in disgust as he sat up and spat, "Oh god, cowboy boots? You let an American in with cowboy boots? For God's sakes, John! And let me guess, you're from some frontier state where they talk with ridiculous accents! Oaklahoma? Kentucky? Texas?"

Suddenly, all of the girl's anxiety drained from her face as it turned red and she spat back with equal fire on her tongue, "I have family from there, thank you! And no, it's New Mexico. And at least down there, we're friendly and know how watch out for rattle snakes unlike you stuck-up morons who can't see a thing with your noses stuck in the air all the time."

John jumped at her sharp remarks and glanced over at Sherlock who gave John and equally confused look. Cocking his head to the side, Sherlock observed the girl for a long time—much longer than usual—before he straightened back up and placed his hands behind his back.

"Oh, a feisty one. I haven't had a client talk back to me with dismal intelligence before. What is your name?" Sherlcok asked. John sighed heavily and turned to the kitchen to make tea and get the girl a glass of water, listening in to the conversation.

"Alice Rhodes," the girl answered. John watched from the corner of his eye as she reached her hand out to shake hands with Sherlock, but the consulting detective merely glared at her. Awkwardly, Alice's hand fell back to her side and she managed to say, "you can call me Allie for short."

"I don't particularly care for nicknames, Alice," Sherlock answered curtly. John let out an exasperated groan. For god's sake, the poor girl had travelled here all the way from the states, didn't she? Sherlock could at least have the decency to show her some respect! Before he could make the situation any worse, John scurried out of the kitchen and placed a tray of drinks down at the table.

"Go ahead and have a seat, Allie, make yourself at home," John offered, handing the girl her glass of water. He fixed a cup of tea just in case she changed her mind. Allie took the glass with great appreciation and sat down in the closest chair. The gesture caused Sherlock to shoot John a glare.

"Don't be nice to her, John," Sherlock ordered, "if you do that, she'll never leave!"

"She's a client, Sherlock," John snapped back, "she's come all this way from America to see you and you're just turning your nose up to her!"

Behind him, Allie snorted a laugh, her point proven. John sighed heavily, with the exception of Irene Adler, Allie was the closest thing to Sherlock John had ever seen. Though unlike Irene, Allie seemed to have no intention of making Sherlock like her, and this was going to make for an interesting several days. Sherlock eyed Allie with his usual cold gaze and walked towards her.

"Alice Rhodes has come here with a case she expects us to solve," Sherlock explained. Allie eyed the detective suspiciously, but leaned forward, anticipating Sherlock's deduction of her. Noticing this, he continued, "unlike past clients she has no intention of leaving even if we were to force her, despite how dreadfully boring it will be. Your kindness has only solidified her stay, John, so thank you for that!"

"How do you know what my case is? You haven't even asked me," Allie pointed out, though it appeared that she knew the answer. John shook his head. His time with Sherlock was making even the army doctor analyze people too much.

"The cowboy boots and the accent tell me that you are from southern United States, though your use of the English language suggests that you have received a good education, though you have yet to graduate secondary school and apply to University. You have also received extra help in your studies, presumably from a parent with a degree in education. The ear piercings and pink hair tell me you are slightly rebellious, if not, blatantly stubborn. You have good posture but your pull your shoulders back and cross your arms as if to shield yourself. You do what you please and say what ever thought comes your way. There must be a parental figure missing from your life and your calloused hands say that you work a lot on the side, so your family must be poor and you have to pay for your own education. The crease in your brow means you are searching for something, yet the certainty in your eyes say that you have a secure family life, despite your financial needs and your missing parent, which suggests there is a stepparent, but you never met the biological parent the stepparent replaces. The complexion of your skin must mean that there was a recent death in your family and the bags under your eyes indicate you are still adjusting from jet lag, so to come to me almost immediately must mean that your search is urgent. So your…mother died and now you are searching for you…father? It was obviously a dying wish and you never felt a strong connection with your stepfather despite his pretend affection towards you and your strong bond with your younger half-sister. That is a boring case, all you need is a blood test and by the look of it, you are an analytical thinker and you must have looked on my website by now so you can find your father on your own. Now, did I miss anything?" Sherlock deduced, his mouth running a mile a minute. Allie sat back in her chair smirking.

"Not my sister, my brother," Allie corrected, crossing her arms.

Sherlock stamped his foot to the ground and grimaced, "Ah! There is always something! Now, you see my point? Go on; find your father by yourself."

"Oh, but I already have," Allie said in a strong voice. John turned to her Allie suddenly. She breathed deeply, though she sounded strong, Sherlock still intimidated her. Sherlock also turned back to face Allie. By this point, he was on the other side of the room. Cocking his head to the side, Sherlock took a step towards Allie. This girl had intrigued him. Perhaps this was the case he had been waiting for all morning after all. When she had his attention, Allie continued, "I'm not here for you to find my father, Sherlock, I'm here for you to prove that I have."

"Is that so? I take it your father lives in London then?" Sherlock asked. Allie nodded.

"My mother was in London for a year in college when her family went bankrupt. She turned to waitressing and prostitution to pay her way through and help her family out," Allie explained, "that's how I came along. She kept a diary and wrote about all of her clients and between your website and my own knowledge, I have narrowed the list down to three people. I could only find one address, however, but the address I did find seems like the most probable suspect."

Sherlock was silent for a long time and he placed his hands to his lips again as he thought. John turned from Sherlock to Allie and back, a horrible feeling welling up inside of him. If Sherlock had caught on to the same suspicion John had, he didn't show it. "You said your name was Rhodes?" Sherlock asked the girl suddenly. Allie nodded her head and Sherlock continued to mumble to himself. "Rhodes…Rhodes…your mother wouldn't happen to be Jessica Rhodes, would it?"

"The very one," Allie answered curtly. At that, Sherlock gave a small smile.

"Ah, yes, I remember Jessica. We went to the same school when she studied in London. I lived on the floor above her," Sherlock stated, remembering fondly. John's shoulders sagged. Sherlock hadn't caught on yet. He was smart, but anything social or scandalous flew right over his head.

Allie pressed her lips together and nodded, "I know you did." Her curt response finally caused Sherlock to halt, his body stiffening.

He faced Allie with slow and stiff movements, narrowing his eyes, he said, "I conducted an experiment with Jessica just before she returned to America."

Again, Allie nodded her head and said, "That's what she said you called it. Now, will you give me a blood sample or am I going to have to punch you?"

"Sherlock!" was all John could manage as he glared at his colleague. Was he really that stupid? This girl couldn't have been more than eighteen years old! What the hell had he been thinking?

But still, Sherlock didn't seem to believe the girl's story completely. He bounded over to where Allie sat and placed a hand on each arm of her chair, staring intently into the girl's eyes.

"When you look at me, what do you see?" he asked in a dark voice, "and don't give me a stupid answer like John would say. Give me every detail, every thought that comes to mind when you look at my face. Go."

Allie wasted no time in answering, "You have a critical eye that is cursed to see everything. You stand tall but your shoulders tip forward slightly because you know you are the best and you see yourself above all others, however you don't think it's possible for you to be the only one in the world such as yourself. You're course hair and defined cheeks suggest that your diet alternates between a healthy one and one that is borderline anorexic. But it isn't body image that alters your diet. Your breath smells of smoke but you're trying to quit and your eyes are blood shot which could mean that you wear nicotine patches quite frequently. Your veins stand up but are shrunken in from dehydration as if you overdose—my guess would be on nicotine patches because for some reason, you think they help you clear your mind. You're also married to your work, which would explain the spotty diet, so you believe that eating slows your progress on a case as your metabolism wastes time digesting instead of thinking. You're also pale and look to the ground frequently, like that of a lonely man who is in denial that his love life sucks. You loved only one woman before, I'm guessing it's that Irene Adler Dr. Watson mentioned in one of his cases considering he didn't understand your alterations in behavior during that time. But there is something else…you'll never admit it but you have a particular fondness of another person…another person you see quite frequently and wish you could reveal your feelings to her but you think that is below you because you don't understand sentiment. Did I miss anything?"

Sherlock and John were both silent for a long time. Slowly, Sherlock stood and croaked, "you missed several things."

"You didn't ask for anything specific and you try to mask the attributes you notice in others so you're harder to read," Allie answered quickly, "I also learned how to refrain from saying things that are embarrassing. Like your brother's pranks, for instance. That is why you hate him after all."

"Oh you're good," Sherlock narrowed his eyes, turning away again, "but you aren't mine."

At that, Allie stood, "if you're so sure, than give me your arm. A blood test should prove my theory wrong, wouldn't you agree?"

"No," Sherlock said, "I don't trust blood tests. You are not mine."

"You slept with my mother!" Allie spat back, "Exactly nine months before I was born, too! How can you be so sure?"

"I didn't sleep with her, I…experimented!" Sherlock retorted. Allie's hands fell to her side and she gave the man a dark glare. John's jaw dropped as he observed Allie. She had Sherlock's eyes. Blue, and vibrant which notice everything.

"Did you insert yourself into her?" Allie asked, then added, "without meaning to be crass of course."

"I don't know—"

"Just answer the question, Sherlock!" John interjected, losing his patience. Both Sherlock and Allie turned to face the doctor in awe. Sherlock walked towards John and leaned into his ear.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked in a low voice. John rolled his eyes and took a step back.

"Did you sleep with Allie's mother? It's a yes or no question, Sherlock," John said. Struggling to find the words, Sherlock lifted his hands slightly.

"Well, yes, but it was—"

"Alright! Both of you, to the clinic, _now please_!" John lifted his hand and drew a circle with this finger before pointing down the stairs. Both Allie and Sherlock stood motionless watching John as he grabbed his coat.

"John! Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, chasing after his friend. Allie followed close behind as the three ran down the stairs.

"_We_, as in all three of us, are going to the clinic so _you and Allie_ can take a paternity test," John explained as if the detective before him were a child. Sherlock gasped out a laugh and shook his head.

"You can't possibly believe that this girl is my…_daughter_ can you?" Sherlock asked, his face contorting at the word 'daughter'.

"Sherlock," John whispered as the stepped outside, "take a look at her, she's the spitting image of you!"

"Plenty of people have doppelgangers, John," Sherlock retorted.

"She just probed through your mind and life story with one look at you. One! She knows more about you than even me, and she hasn't been here for more than twenty minutes!" John pointed out, his voice raising two octaves.

"Oh please, John, anyone can get that information by reading your blog," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Including the part about your brother? And I suspected you had feelings for Irene, but I _never_ mentioned that in my writings," John spat.

"Oh good god," Sherlock groaned. He then grabbed John roughly by the shoulder and turned to face Allie who stood behind them with a straight face, her chin tucked neatly into her scarf and her hands shoved in her pockets—just like Sherlock—as if she waited for them to say something.

"Take a look at John," Sherlock said quickly, "he's a doctor, obviously. But what kind of doctor?"

Allie narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to the side as she looked John up and down. She then looked the man in the eye and asked, "that's a good question. Afghanistan or Iraq? And how long did you walk with a psychosomatic limp? You were only shot in the shoulder."

Allie pushed past them and waved down a cab as John and Sherlock both turned to each other, their eyes widened with terror.

"If we don't go, she can't prove it," Sherlock whispered quickly. John groaned as a cab pulled up and Allie stepped in. He turned to the cap and shoved Sherlock forward.

"In the cab! Now!" John ordered stiffly. Allie and Sherlock sat across from each other, both with their arms crossed and neither said a word. John still couldn't believe it himself.

Sherlock Holmes had a daughter. And it happened because he was conducting an "experiment".

What's more, Alice Rhodes could arguably be an even bigger smartass than Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson was trapped in the middle of it all.


	2. Hangings

And come to find out, world, that I have suddenly fallen in love with Allie...especially her banter with Sherlock XD Well, anyway, I shall continue with this story (if FanFiction doesn't want to make it near impossible for me to log in all the sudden)!

Also, I have to apologize because I don't exactly know Sherlock and John's ages in the series. My guess was mid to late thirties...hence the point in time Alice came around. :P

ENJOI

* * *

**Sherlock**

When he had asked for something interesting to happen, this was by no means what Sherlock had intended for! What—who—where in the blazes did this girl come from? Well, Sherlock knew _where_, but when did she get the nerve to waltz into his flat claiming such preposterous things? And even if she were his daughter, who in their right mind would _want_ to know that they were the offspring of Sherlock Holmes?

Well, that would probably make her his child then, wouldn't it?

Groaning inwardly, the detective leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. The waiting room of the clinic was a dreary place and the blinding lights only made things look worse. Beside him, Alice turned her head towards Sherlock with her sharp gaze.

"Sighing like that is not going to make me disappear," she pointed out before turning her attention towards the television mounted on the wall.

"Oh but if only it would," Sherlock groaned, "the sooner the doctor comes out with that test, the sooner I get you out of my hair."

"Who said I would leave if it came out negative?" Alice gave him a smirk but otherwise focused on the television.

"I did," Sherlock answered curtly.

"Nope. No you are not," Alice protested as if it were fact, "you know the streets of London better than anyone. If you aren't my father, I have two other candidates and you're going to help me find them."

"You speak as if I'm actually going to comply with you," the detective noted. This girl was annoying. He wanted her out of his hair immediately.

"Because you are," Alice said, "and if you don't, I'm sure Dr. Watson would be more than willing to help."

At that, John nearly leapt out of his skin in the seat across from the two, wanting this nonsense to be over with about as much as Sherlock did. "What? Me?" he stammered nervously, "No! I'm staying out of this one!"

Sherlock couldn't see her face, but when Alice cocked her head to the side, the detective could imagine her giving John a stern and mildly amused look, very similar to one Sherlock had often been caught giving. Damn those cheekbones of hers. Why did Alice have to look so much like Sherlock anyway?

After what felt like hours, the door opened and Sherlock leapt to his feet without looking, "Good to see you, doctor! I imagine the test came out negative, so if you could please tell this young woman that I have no obligation to her whatsoever, that would be—oh good grief."

When he had finally looked up, Sherlock realized too late that he wasn't shaking hands with the doctor who had pricked his and Alice's fingers.

Mycroft appeared as if he had been holding in the largest bout of laughter he had ever experienced in years. Barely maintaining his composure, Sherlock's elder brother managed to say, "It's a girl. And I'm surprised you even had it in you."

"M-Mycroft?" John stuttered, rising to his feet, "But what on earth are you-?"

"I vaguely remember Sherlock sharing stories about an experiment with his acquaintance Jessica Rhodes. He was quite drunk at a Christmas party when he told me too," Mycroft explained as-a-matter-of-factly. "So naturally when a friend of mine informed me of a death certificate with the same name followed by a passport of a Miss Alice Rhodes stamped upon arriving to London, I grew suspicious. And isn't this a pleasure! Where is she? I would like to meet my niece."

"You are just enjoying this, aren't you," Sherlock spat as Mycroft moved past him and shook hands with the confused girl behind the detective.

"Hi, Alice Rhodes," Alice introduced, "And you are…?"

"Mycroft Holmes," Mycroft answered a little too giddily, "You can call me Uncle Mycroft from now on."

"Ah. You're the brother," Alice nodded absent mindedly, "Which means that he is my father after all?"

Mycroft cleared his throat and handed Alice the paper work, "See for yourself."

Taking the paperwork, Alice flipped through it, her eyes widening before she shoved it into Sherlock's chest. Her face contorted slightly before she finally met the detectives gaze and she spat, "Oh my god, I actually am related to you!"

"You act so surprised!" Sherlock spat back as he skimmed through the papers. He could feel his face turning green as he read through the doctor's notes.

"Well, yeah! I didn't think that I would actually be stuck with you!" Alice shrieked, beginning to panic. Alice rocked her head back and began to pace around the room, "Oh my god, my father is a psychopath! And so am I for even thinking this was a good idea!"

"Highly functioning sociopath, get it right!" Sherlock snapped. He then glared at Mycroft before spitting out, "and what in the bloody hell are you doing here anyway?"

"The thought of you fathering a child is more terrifying than a terrorist kidnapping the Queen," Mycroft said blatantly before knocking his fist against the wooden table behind him. "What's more, it appears that she is an awful lot like you…only more pleasant to be around."

"My childhood in a nutshell," Sherlock heaved a heavy sigh. He turned around to find Alice slamming her head against the wall before facing John. The soldier merely crossed his arms and glared at Sherlock. "What?"

"Let's just go home, shall we?" John offered. "Mycroft, why don't you join us, have some tea while you and Sherlock get to meet the newest member of your family. Allie!"

"You're just trying to be funny," Sherlock hissed in a low voice, catching John by the arm as he tried to walk away. The doctor gave him a stern look that stated 'does this look funny to you?' John tried to walk away again, but Sherlock caught his arm once more and whispered, "Her name is Alice!"

"Since when do you care?" John snapped back. "A minute ago you were trying to get her out of the country."

"I detest nicknames," Sherlock replied curtly. "And you're helping me get that god-awful pink out of her hair."

"Oh, because that makes sense," John hissed and then walked out the door. Sherlock glanced back at Mycroft who motioned for him to go forward. The detective walked towards the door, eyeing Alice who now glared at him with her arms crossed. Pausing, Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but found his mouth dry and his chest hollow. He realized then that as much as they both wanted her to, Alice Rhodes would not be able to leave England as planned.

"Come along now," Sherlock attempted to say in a gentle voice. It spewed out of his mouth like vomit. Alice glanced up at him with her sharp blue eyes before leading the way out of the doctor's office. Sherlock followed with Mycroft closely at his haunches.

This was going to take some getting used to.

* * *

**Alice**

So far, Dr. Watson was the only sensible character I had met in England. Actually, he was probably the only sensible person I had met ever. Even in my family back home, my mother, dying of cancer asks me to take a trip to England to find my father after I was conceived from prostitution. Then you had Josh, my stepfather who suddenly disowns me because I wanted to find out who my real father was but is still paying for my college and my summer trip abroad. Then there was Max…he was only six but if he was my brother, something had to be screwed up with him. And then everyone else I had ever known…if you live in Motel Central, Middle of Nowhere New Mexico or go to a school in a city called Albuquerque, there's automatically something wrong with you.

And now I had my biological father the "highly functioning sociopath" and consulting detective and my supposed uncle who basically ran the British government! Mrs. Hudson was a nice lady, but I didn't trust anyone who let me father live in her flat to be normal.

Dr. Watson was obviously pissed off at Sherlock for the whole situation, but he was friendly and seemed to have his head screwed on straight. I knew I wasn't normal, but I had a feeling he would be the only reason I came out of the next several months even remotely sane.

After one of the most awkward afternoons of my life, Dr. Watson insisted that I stay with him and Sherlock for the summer (at first, I just wanted to leave England and forget the whole thing happened, but I had a feeling that Mycroft wouldn't let me out of the country until I at least got to know him and Sherlock…and they were family after all) and Mrs. Hudson opened up a room just above them for me. After I retrieved my belongings from the hotel and returned, dragging my suitcases upstairs, I heard John shriek from the living room, "And I swear, if you fire you gun up at the ceiling again, I will-! Oh! Hello, Allie!"

His shouts had caught my attention enough for me to crane my head and peer into the door way. As Dr. Watson waved at me, I gave him a feeble smile and nodded, the color draining from my face. Noticing this, Dr. Watson gave a small smile and shook his head, explaining, "Don't mind us. Sherlock just gets bored occasionally when he doesn't have a case."

"Oh," I said with a dry mouth. I then stalked up the stairs and opened the door to my new room. It was much nicer than the hotel room, almost as nice as the house back home, even. I sighed heavily and collapsed onto my bed. Three weeks ago, I was sitting with my mom in a hospital in the city, now I was living with my deranged father and his roommate of whom I barely knew. Great.

I unpacked my things and placed them in a drawer or hung them up, then plugged in my laptop and phone for charging. Looking at the time, I figured Max and Josh were awake by then so I hopped back onto my bed and called them. I sat on the pillows and crossed my legs as I listened to the ringing of the phone. Just as I thought, Max's sleepy little voice answered the phone.

"Herro?" he answered groggily. I giggled to myself, imagining the little boy with his sandy hair in disarray as he rubbed his big blue eyes and leaned against a chair while he held the phone to his ear.

"Herro little man!" I cheered, my shoulders hunching up slightly. Part of me felt guilty, in the whole mess of things from Mom's funeral to booking the flight to England, I hadn't given Max too much thought. The night before I left, he just about cried himself to sleep in my lap. Josh told me not to worry about it and insisted that it would be good for both me and Max to take the trip. I agreed with him at the time, but back then I didn't think I would actually be staying the whole summer.

I heard a little gasp on the other end as Max squealed, "Allie! Did you find your Papa?"

At that, I couldn't help but laugh. That little boy knew how to light up a room. "I did, Maxie, I did! How are you doing? It's not too early where you are, is it?"

I could just picture Max shaking his head as he answered, "Nu-uh. Dad's making breakfast. I miss you, Allie. But you're coming home if you found your Papa, right?"

I heaved a heavy sigh before answering. Josh and I hadn't exactly told Max that we were no longer considering ourselves father-daughter. I licked my lips and said, "I will, Max, but not just yet. I never met my Papa, remember? I have to get to know him first before I come home. I might be gone a while."

Max let out a long whining noise as he groaned, "But Allie! You said you would come home after you found your Papaaaaa…"

"Yeah, I know Max," I answered, "but things got a little complicated along the way. And besides, if you lived seventeen years without knowing Dad and you had to travel across the world to meet him, you'd want to stay a while and get to know him before coming home, wouldn't you?"

"I guess so," Max sighed heavily, "Just don't be gone too long, okay?"

"Okay," I said, "and I'll be sure to bring back an extra something special, alright?"

"YEAH!" Max shrieked so loudly, I had to hold the phone away from my ear. When his constant giggling calmed, he finally managed to say, "Dad wants to talk to you now. I'll see you later, okay, Allie?"

"Sounds good, champ," I said, "you take care of yourself, Little Man!"

"Okay!" Max answered before I heard Josh's voice say, "Allie? How are you?"

"Hey, Josh," I said, a wave of exhaustion hitting me suddenly, "I'm good. Still have a bit of jet lag though."

"That's to be expected," Josh explained, "so it sounds like you found your father?"

I nodded my head and answered, "Yep. He's a little more…eccentric than Dr. Watson writes about on his blog though…"

"So he actually is Sherlock Holmes?" Josh asked in disbelief.

"Yes, Josh, he is," I said through pursed lips, "I've got the paternity test to prove it too."

"You don't sound as excited as I thought you would," Josh pointed out, "is he not what you expected?"

I groaned and curled my knees to my chest before answering, "I don't think any father is, Josh, if I were to be completely honest. Though right now I can't tell if he's going to make me feel sane or drive me crazier than I already am."

At that, Josh let out a hearty laugh and I couldn't help but crack a smile. He may not have been able to play the "Dad" role for me, and I may have driven him up a wall at times, but Josh was a constant I knew that I would always have. Suddenly, knowing that I had a rock to lean on in him made the world seem a bit brighter. It was then when I realized how much I had taken him for granted.

"Probably a bit of both, Allie," Josh admitted. "Oh! Before I forget, Michael came over yesterday looking for you. He had no idea you were out of town. I told him you'd call him when you got the chance, so if isn't too late where you are and you aren't doing anything, I'd give him a call."

"Michael did?" I asked, my face flushing. I had very few friends back home, but Michael was one of the closest ones anyone could ever ask for. We were neighbors when I was younger and we played together since we were in diapers. To this date, he is probably the only one besides Max who thinks my over-observant personality is cute.

"Yeah, he's been worried about you, Allie, I'm surprised you broke up with him," Josh explained, "Well, actually I'm not surprised. I know why you did but…if you two got back together once everything settles down, I wouldn't mind. He's the most decent kid I know around here."

"Jooosh!" I groaned loudly as I buried my face. That was another thing about Michael, we had dated since our freshman year but I broke it off with him when my Mom first got sick. The last thing I needed was another distraction at the time. We stayed friends, but it was no secret that he still had feelings for me and it was hard to get over someone you've had a crush on since elementary school. But at that point in time, Josh getting in the middle of my love life was _not_ what I needed!

"Alright, alright, sorry for bringing it up," Josh apologized. I sighed but forgave him. It wasn't long after that when we hung up the phone and I set it down on the dresser beside my bed. As I did so, I glanced up to see Sherlock standing by the doorway, his hands in his pockets and his expression blank as ever.

"Brother and stepfather?" he guessed. I nodded my head, still not trusting of my biological father. The detective took a step into the room and continued, "but you refer to your stepfather by his first name. Not close to him, I take it?"

I shook my head, "No. Mom got me in the habit of calling him my dad just to be polite, but neither of us really saw each other in that way. Just before I left he told me to call him by his name instead."

Sherlock was silent after that and didn't bother to look me in the eye. When I couldn't take the silence any longer, I turned back to him and asked, "Look, are you going to keep prodding into my personal life or will you leave me alone?"

"Sorry, but John locked me out of our flat until I make an attempt to 'bond' with you I think were the words he chose," Sherlock answered coolly. I sighed heavily and placed my head in my hands when he suddenly advance on me and grasped me firmly by the shoulders, pulling my face towards his as he said, "Let us get one thing clear. While you are here you are to do exactly as I say and stay out of my way. And I will not tolerate any more lip or cross looks from you, do you understand?"

Panic struck me in the core for a moment as no one had ever spoken to me with such a harsh tone before. I nodded my head numbly and Sherlock released his grip and turned away. As he did so, the panic turned to outright anger. "But let's get a few more things straight," I snapped back. Sherlock turned back to me as if I was disobeying his decree but I held up my hand demanding that I get my say in. In return, the detective took a step back and waited for me to continue, "I am only months away from becoming a legal adult and I have held down a job for two years now. My mother died in my arms and I've helped raise my little brother so do _not_ treat me like a child. Secondly, I will speak to you as you speak to me, so if you don't want my sour attitude, then you better keep your mouth shut or get a serious attitude check. And third, I'm just as smart as you; all I lack is proper training. You and I both know that so you are going to train me and you are not going to act as if I'm some sort of idiot. Do I make myself clear?

Sherlock shot me a cold glare but he answered with stiff lips, "transparently. Now show some respect and take that pink out of your hair."

"Not a child," I repeated in a low voice.

"Of course," the detective spat. With that, he placed his hands behind his back and he left, returning to his apartment for the night. I leaned back into my bed and sighed heavily.

This was going to be a _very long_ summer.

* * *

**Sherlock**

He closed the door to Alice's room only to find John glaring at him.

"You could have been a little friendlier," the doctor scolded.

"Oh, please, this is all her fault for coming here in the first place. She's a spoiled brat. The least she could do is learn some manners," Sherlock spat back. As he stepped away, John cocked his head to the side as if to think hard on something.

"Did you not hear her conversation with her family back home?" John then asked. Sherlock paused at the stairs and turned back to face his friend. John sighed heavily, walking towards the detective and spoke more quietly, "by the sound of it, she is anything but a spoiled brat. She's just a girl who lost her mum and is looking for her father on the other side of the ocean. And if I were her, I too would be disappointed in what I found!"

Sherlock took a step back at that. That…kind of stung… "What do you mean by that?" the detective asked, trying not to sound hurt.

John let out a heavy sigh and shook his head, "You haven't been…the nicest to her, especially after that test came out positive. Look, I know it's a shock, but please give her a chance. This arrangement isn't permanent. Follow Mycroft's example, he's been fine about the whole thing!"

"Oh, bloody Mycroft," Sherlock scoffed, his nose crinkling. First he insults Sherlock, now he's bringing up his brother? Could this day get any worse?

The detective skulked down the stairs and into their flat behind John. He went over to his skull to find his stash. He needed a cigarette…

"John?" Sherlock asked, panic welling up inside him. When he lifted the skull, there was nothing there. He placed it back on the mantle quickly then lifted the skull up again. Still nothing. "Where are my cigarettes?"

"Oh, I threw them out," John answered curtly. At that, Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Why?" he asked, slightly unnerved.

"Because we agreed last night that you were quitting, remember?" John repeated. Sherlock paused for a moment. He did say that, didn't he…

"But that was before I had a daughter!" the detective roared, leaning his head back. He hadn't even bought a new set of nicotine patches yet.

"Oh, go to bed, Sherlock, you'll be fine in the morning," John scolded, making his way for his bedroom. Before he closed the door, the doctor turned around and ordered, "And no shooting up in Allie's room!"

"Her name is Alice!" Sherlock snapped back. John responded with a slam of his door. Once alone, Sherlock walked over to the cough and slid into it. He was wrong, the day _had_ gotten worse. This was all thanks to that bloody Alice Rhodes.

* * *

**Alice**

I woke up to the sound of someone knocking on my door. Stirring, I snorted and smeared my cheek against my drool-covered pillow. Upon feeling the bizarre sensation I sat up quickly and wiped my face. I paused for a moment, not sure if the knock on the door was real or if I had dreamed it in my half-asleep state. But sure enough, there was another tap followed by Dr. Watson's voice calling, "Allie? Are you awake yet?"

I threw a sweatshirt over my camisole and stumbled to the door, catching a glimpse of my crazed-looking self in the mirror. My hair stood on ends and my eyes were vibrantly blue and for once, the rings underneath them were gone but I was still pale as a ghost. I rubbed my nose slightly as I opened the door and stuck my head out and there Dr. Watson stood with a friendly smile, his hair neatly combed and his clothes neatly ironed.

"Good morning, Allie," Dr. Watson said warmly. I nodded my head in slight confusion and the doctor continued, "Sleep well?"

"Oh! Yeah! Best night's sleep than I've had in a while," I answered, fumbling over my words. It took a moment for me to remember that I wasn't in that hotel room anymore, nor was I in New Mexico.

"Ah, good," Dr. Watson said. He then shifted back on his feet slightly and looked around. A question hung on the tip of his tongue but he didn't seem sure he wanted to ask it. Nevertheless, he turned to me and finally said, "Look, um. Your flat is kind of small, it's more like a hotel room, really. And we usually have tea and breakfast with Mrs. Hudson in the mornings—she uses our kitchen when Sherlock isn't up to his experiments, that is—would you care to join us?"

I had to keep my jaw from dropping but I nodded my head and joked, "as long as Sherlock cleans up after his 'experiments' and there aren't any other siblings I should know about. But sure."

At that, Dr. Watson let out a small laugh and answered, "I can assure you that _that_ is not what Sherlock experiments with these days. Though you might want to stay out of the fridge every now and then. He knows a few people at the morgue and…well…"

We walked down the stairs as Dr. Watson spoke and I couldn't help but let my eyes widen and my interest peak as I said, "the morgue? What does he get? Fingers? Arms? Organs? Heads?"

Dr. Watson stared at me skeptically, his eyes shifting side to side as he said uneasily, "A bit of everything…actually."

A smile crept up on my face, "Oh…man! You know, we were supposed to dissect cats in Biology this past year, but our school is low on funds so we never had the chance to…and I've been looking into doing pre-med for college so…"

Dr. Watson's face flushed and contorted slightly as he cut me off and answered quickly, "That would be a question for your _father_."

I held in a groan at that. After what I went through the day before, Sherlock was _not_ someone I could consider a father figure, even if I had his genes. We turned the corner and walked into Dr. Watson's and Sherlock's apartment. Mrs. Hudson was in the living room setting down a tray of food and tea while Sherlock sat on the couch with his knees tucked into his chest. He shot me a glare and groaned, "at least have the decency to dress before coming down here."

I narrowed my eyes. That jerk was in nothing but his boxers, t-shirt and bathrobe! I glanced down at myself, I had managed to cover my camisole with a sweatshirt (I think it might have been Michael's at a time because it was huge on me and had his scent…oh well, if he wanted it, he could come get it himself), but my pajama shorts were about as skimpy on me as boxers were on a man. I looked back up at Sherlock and offered, "let's call it even for now."

"I'm in my own flat, I can wear whatever I please. You, however, are a guest in this building and a guest in this country. We are not even and you have no respect for other people's spaces. Put some clothes on," Sherlock retorted in a cold voice. I shot him a nasty glare while Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson both took a chance to scold him.

"Sherlock! Be nice to your daughter!" Mrs. Hudson cried as Dr. Watson yelled, "Since when do you respect other people's spaces, you ignorant bastard!"

Groaning, Sherlock rolled his eyes and mustered, "Oh, fine. You win this time, Alice, but don't think you can get away with it again."

With that, Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson seemed to continue their morning as if Sherlock wasn't an insulting asshole as they scampered about the apartment to get breakfast ready. I stood in the center of the living room awkwardly and peered into the kitchen. Sure enough, the table was covered with microscopes, beakers, test tubes, and several samples of…something. I turned back to Sherlock to find that he was watching my every move intently, still not sure what to make of me. I pursed my lips and tried to say something, but Mrs. Hudson then came in and sat down in a chair, cheering, "Breakfast! Helpeeself now!"

I made my way towards the love seat across from the couch, but Dr. Watson swiftly claimed the chair as his own. I glanced around the room, nervously. The only other seat that was open was the couch…next to Sherlock.

"Something wrong, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

I shook my head uncomfortably and noted, "there aren't a whole lot of chairs in here."

At that, Dr. Watson jumped and gestured over to the couch, "Oh! Well, there's an open seat next to Sherlock—"

"No there isn't," Sherlock said quickly, turning his body so his feet could lie on the couch. I shot the detective a nasty glare before turning back to Dr. Watson with pleading eyes, but all the doctor did was motion for me to say something to Sherlock and I cringed in response. Dr. Watson followed that up with crossed arms and a scolding look. I sighed heavily and turned to face Sherlock. Geez, if there was a contest for who could be my dad, so far Dr. Watson was winning.

I hopped lightly on my feet to where Sherlock was lounging. I shifted sideways uncomfortably and glanced over at Dr. Watson for help, but he merely motioned for me to continue so I forced a smile and said, "Um…hi…Sherlock? Is this seat taken?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, reading through the newspaper without giving me a second glance. My smile dropped. I looked back over to the two audience members only to find them waiting expectantly for me to break the ice with my cold-hearted father.

I scooted sideways and sat on the arm of the couch and patted his feet, "Oh, come on, Sherlock, don't be silly. May I sit here? Please?"

"No," the detective said in the most monotonous voice ever. I took in a sharp breath and puffed out my cheeks, trying so hard not to snap back at him. We had enough of that kind of banter the night before and I didn't want to hear my mom's voice in my head yelling at me for my signature sharp tongue and wild temper. At this point, I couldn't tell if Sherlock was testing me or just being a royal pain in the ass, but suddenly a determination like nothing I had ever felt before struck me in the core. I came all this way to meet my father, and by god, I wasn't going to let the trip end on a sour note. I at least had to be able to sit next to the guy for _breakfast_. When Sherlock wouldn't budge, I swallowed my pride and blinked a few times to water my eyes. If I couldn't out smart him or use my manners against him, then I would just have to sweet talk Sherlock into getting what I wanted. That trick always worked on Josh when I was younger; surely I still had it in me now.

"Alright, alright, I admit, we got off on a bad note yesterday, a really bad note," I started. I waited for Sherlock to look up at me before I batted my eyelashes and put on an innocent smile, "but what do you say we start over? I sit next to you and we have a nice breakfast together? I just want to get to know my dad is all, have a meal with him like I've always dreamed of. Please?" I took in a deep breath and managed to add, "Daddy?"

Sherlock stared at me for a long time and I caught a small twitch in his eye. I had to hold in a triumphant smile when I saw it. So the ice king had a soft spot after all! Putting on an emotionless façade, Sherlock sat up and removed his feet and spat back, "Fine. But only if you don't use that drivel on me again. Just because your cute smile works on your stepfather doesn't mean you'll get whatever you want from me."

"So you did think it was cute!" I pointed out grinning as I took my seat. My outburst was rewarded by a sharp look from the detective.

"You said you wanted to start over on a good note, Alice, so please don't ruin the moment," Sherlock snapped back. I shifted my eyes and looked away from my father, then reached for one of the biscuits on the tray. We ate in awkward silence, much like when we had tea with Mycroft the day before.

Dr. Watson attempted to break the silence when he offered, "It's a nice morning, wouldn't you all agree?"

If Sherlock was already pissed, the words that came out of the doctor's mouth only made him angrier. "It would be a nice morning if I had a case!"

He flung his arms in the air, causing me to spill my tea on my lap. I yelped and hopped up into a squatting position to dodge the hot liquid, my heart pounding. I turned towards Dr. Watson and asked, "Is he always like this?"

Dr. Watson was barely able to nod before Sherlock shot up to his feet and started prancing around like a madman complaining about this, that, and the other. Apparently, he didn't like it when the criminal underworld was behaving.

"Oh, come now, Sherlock, I'm sure a good murder will come your way. Just give it some time," Mrs. Hudson offered kindly.

"Ah, but there have already been three!" Sherlock continued to whine, "the police aren't disclosing any information on it which either means my brother was part of the clean up or they are in over their heads yet again."

My curiosity getting the better of me, I set what was left of my tea on the end table and reached over for the newspaper Sherlock had placed between us. Sure enough, the headline printed on the front page read, "Three hangings: Suicide or murder?" As I read through the article, I discovered that three men were found hanging from the ceilings of their homes. Initially police thought they had been suicides, but upon finding the third victim, a piece of paper was left taped to the noose with a note written in rhymes that outright insulted the people of England, criticizing the once empire for depriving the writer's home country of prosperity. The note was signed with what looked to be a picture or a tongue sticking out of a mouth.

"Was the killer an Indian, maybe?" I asked suddenly. Sherlock paused and spun around to face me. He gave me a confused look and pointed at me as if he wanted me to continue so I said, "the note that was left on the third victim is basically criticizing the British Empire for stripping another country of its wealth. The only countries I can think of off the top of my head that had disagreements with the old empire was the U.S., but that was a few hundred years ago and the only economic issues we have are self-driven, China, but that mainly had to do with drug smuggling, and they're growing in wealth too, and India. Well, India's still considered a third-world country today and from what I've heard, the streets of a small town in India are a lot more dangerous than the streets of a small town in New Mexico, U.S.A."

"Yes, but we haven't associated with India in years," Sherlock said in a low voice as he paced around the room, "at least not as if it were a colony. Our trade relations with them are one of the strongest in the country as well."

"You haven't associated with the States as if it were a colony in centuries and we have one of the friendliest foreign relationships, but you still get the uneducated American who's pissed off at the world and looking for another country to blame for his troubles now and then," I explained. Sherlock turned back to me and narrowed his eyes, an approving grin slowly pulling at the corners of his mouth. I couldn't help but contain my own grin. Finally, Alice Rhodes broke the ice with her father the consulting detective.

But then Dr. Watson stood, taking the opportunity to ruin the moment and said, "Okay, _children_, let's not get ahead of ourselves! For all we know the case was already solved and Mycroft doesn't want any information getting out."

Just as Dr. Watson said that, however, there came a loud knock on the door. Sherlock flashed Dr. Watson a mischievous grin and said with the upmost sarcasm, "I wonder who that could be. Alice, could you get that? I'm hardly decent for visitors at the moment."

I sat up in disbelief and spat back, "And what does that make me?"

"Alice. Get the door, if you will. Please," Sherlock repeated in a low voice. I groaned loudly and leaned my head back into the couch before standing. I didn't know who would be standing at the door, but I had a feeling they wouldn't want a mangled-looking American girl in booty shorts answering it.

But as my savior, who was still winning the parental figure contest, Dr. Watson leapt to his feet and offered, "I'll answer it!" I sighed in relief and sprinted up the stairs and into my own apartment—room—thing and quickly changed before brushing my hair out. I ran into the bathroom and brushed my teeth but as I looked in the mirror and saw the knots they were in, I decided to dunk my head into the sink and wash my hair quickly. Within ten minutes, I was sliding down the stair railing with a wet head and bounced into the living room to find a silver-haired man in a tuxedo explaining the very case we had read in the paper to Sherlock. And being my father, the man hadn't even bothered to change into clothes.

When my father looked up at me with disapproving eyes, I shrugged back in confusion, gathering the attention of all who were present. Along with the gray-haired man came a dark-skinned woman with thick curly hair who had obviously been having an affair with the square-faced and big-nosed dork standing on her left. All three of them eyed me with confusion as Sherlock groaned, "Oh, please, not the boots again, that just screams tourist."

I glanced down at my shoes and looked back up at the detective feeling slightly hurt as I retorted, "But I like my boots."

"Sherlock? Who is this girl?" the silver-haired man asked with a furrowed brow. He too was a detective but for the Scotland Yard. The two officers he brought with him hated Sherlock with a passion and were practically waiting to frame my father for a crime that he solved but the silver-haired man, though he wasn't too fond of Sherlock himself, placed the upmost trust in my father. I immediately felt a cold hatred for the other two, but I took a liking to the man who spoke to me.

Stepping forward, I held out my hand and introduced, "Hi, I'm Alice Rhodes. You can call me Allie."

"No, no, don't call her Allie. Nicknames are preposterous," Sherlock protested. He took a sip of tea and when the man and I both gave him confused looks, the detective finally explained, "Alice, this is Inspector Lestrade. He works for the Yard and comes to me often for help with cases. Lestrade, this is…my daughter Alice."

At that, Lestrade's face paled as he turned back to me and asked in terror, "Daughter?"

I nodded my head. With my hand still in his, I gave it one final shake and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Inspector. And don't worry, I may see the world like him, but I take more after my mother."

Lestrade nodded and looked from Sherlock to me and back. He could definitely see the resemblance, but still he managed to choke out, "when exactly did you find out you had a daughter, Sherlock?"

"Yesterday," both of us answered at the same time. Lestrade nodded with uncertainty, but then he suddenly leaned towards me and took both my hands in his.

"Allie, I am so sorry to hear about that. If you need anything, anything at all, just give me a call. And don't take anything personally, your father has always been an intense bloke," Lestrade said quickly and sincerely.

"Her name is Alice!" Sherlock spat from behind the inspector as I managed to choke out, "Oh…um…thank you. Don't worry about it."

"But really, if this guy starts giving you too much trouble, just come see me and I'll set him straight," Lestrade insisted. I nodded my head quickly and pulled my hand away.

Sherlock scoffed from behind and complained, "For God's sakes, why has everyone had the exact same reaction to this? You all act as if I'm some demon."

Turning abruptly, Lestrade crossed his arms and spat out, "because as a father, you would be, Sherlock! You're bad enough with people as it is, and now you have poor Allie—"

"Alice!" Sherlock corrected, raising his voice.

"Oh, whatever! You have poor Alice who has obviously been raised with proper manners and etiquette and when she starts looking for her father she finds out it's you of all people!" Lestrade scolded. I pursed my lips and held in a laugh. Part of me felt bad for Sherlock for getting so much crap about the whole thing, the other half thought it was hilarious that all his friends were genuinely concerned for my well-being. "Speaking of which, why did you come here looking for Sherlock? If you're anything like him, surely you could have figured it out without travelling to London."

"I did, but I needed a blood test to prove it," I admitted, "My stepfather didn't exactly believe me when I told him I thought my dad was the detective he reads about on Dr. Watson's blog."

Lestrade nodded, still confused and continued to ask in a quick voice, "Well, yes, but _why_ would you come if you knew it was Sherlock Holmes? Did your mum pass or something?"

At that, I blinked a few times and looked down at the ground, not wanting to answer the question. It had been hard enough looking through her diary and face her past as it was, much less talk about her. Max couldn't even mention Mom without breaking down into tears before I left.

"Anyway, Lestrade, if you are finished poking your nose into my child's personal life, I would appreciate it if you could share with me all that you know about these hangings."

"Oh, right!" Lestrade faced Sherlock and cleared his throat. Before he continued, he turned back to me and apologized, "Sorry…"

I shrugged and put on a smile, saying, "Oh don't worry, it's fine."

Lestrade then continued, "If you've read the papers, you would know that the most recent victim had a note attached to his noose that outright insulted the country and threatened that they would do to us as we supposedly did to their country. The victims are all government officials, so we are led to believe that the killer is from the Middle East—"

"No," Sherlock corrected, "Though that may be possible, our killer is more likely from India."

At that, Lestrade looked to his two other officers, both with confused expressions. Lestrade turned back to Sherlock and asked, "W-What? An Indian? But why would they have qualms with us?"

"The country itself has no problem with us, but it is a group of individuals. Most likely a gang of uneducated fools who are taking out their anger and blaming it on the state of India's economy," Sherlock explained. When Lestrade opened his mouth to protest, Sherlock swiftly pointed towards me and said, "Alice. You explain."

Suddenly all eyes were on me and I took a hesitant step backwards. I stammered slightly before I could muster, "W-well, Lestrade could be right, I mean…the Middle East and North Korea have been causing the most recent—"

"I don't care for your sudden case of self-doubt, Alice. Always go with your instinct and don't listen to any other idiot. You came up with the idea, you explain. And while you're at it, please explain why the idiotic notion that this has anything to do with the Middle East is blatantly wrong," Sherlock spat back. I took in a shaky breath and began to speak.

"Well," I began with a lump in my throat. "Though the Middle East seems like a probably idea…the United States has mainly been the ring leader that has gone against those countries. I mean, if you look at the 9/11 attacks, that's essentially where all current conflict and security changes have started. And the note according to the newspaper looked as if it were complaining about something the British Empire caused years ago, and from what I remember in history class, most conflicts the British Empire had with other countries dealt with drug wars or colonization, and the first three countries I can think of that fit in that category are the U.S., China, and India. China has been on the rise in economics and all of the U.S.'s problems are really self-induced. I would know, I grew up poor but my family never blamed another country for our problems. India, however, is still considered a third-world country and in a lot of places, it isn't the safest part in the world to be in. Though India has strong political and economic relations with the United Kingdom, you can still get an occasional group of idiots that hold grudges…"

As I finished, I glanced up at Lestrade and the others, all of them but Sherlock stared at me as if I had three heads. Sherlock, however, allowed a smile to tug at the corners of his lips and he nodded. I nodded in response with my mouth hanging open slightly. Did he just…_approve_ of me?

"Okay," Lestrade began, still not certain of my theory, "so say it is a group of Indian thugs with a grudge against this country. That can't be enough motivation to kill three people, can it?"

I cringed slightly, at a loss for words, but Sherlock picked up my slack and began pacing around the room, his fingers pressed gently to his lips as he explained, "of course it isn't. Which is why there is someone else pulling the strings. Someone who is either out for revenge or looking for a good show. They used a grudge as the bait and money as the final reward. With the addition of the note, I would suspect that our killer, or killers, is not finished yet. I will head up to the station and take a look at the corpses. John!"

Sherlock jumped into his room and changed quickly before coming out. He walked up to the coat hanger and grabbed his coat and scarf with John following suit. Lestrade and the other officers left as the two got ready to leave. Not sure what to do, I slowly made my way for the couch to get out of their way, but as Sherlock started to leave, he turned back at the doorway and shot me a soft glare, "Alice!"

I jumped in my seat and looked up at him, "What?"

Sighing heavily and fighting annoyance, Sherlock grabbed my green penny coat off the hanger and handed it to me, "the streets of London can still be a tad cold in early June. You'll need this."

He turned to leave as I took the coat numbly in my hand. "Sherlock?" I asked.

"What?" Sherlock replied in an exasperated tone.

"You…really want me to come with you?" I asked. Sherlock gave me a disapproving look as if I were some idiot.

"John told me you never got to dissect a cat in biology class and you're looking into becoming a doctor, didn't he?" he asked. I nodded my head in slight confusion. Sherlock then flailed his arm in a circle around his body as if to hurry me and scolded, "then come on! I need you to help me with this case!"

"Oh! Okay!" I shot up to my feet and put my coat on as I followed quickly behind Sherlock. He subconsciously placed his hand on my shoulder as he led me down the stairs and out the door where John had a taxi waiting for us. The cab took us to the station and Sherlock and I sat next to each other with our arms crossed, both of us looking out the window.

Suddenly, Sherlock said, "it's 'Father', actually."

"I'm sorry?" I asked, turning to face Sherlock, but he merely continued to stare out the window, aloof as ever.

"You called me by my first name earlier," Sherlock pointed out, "I believe it is proper for a daughter to address her parental figures as their proper title. You will call me 'Father' from now on. I guess you could use 'Dad' or 'Daddy' if you really want to but…agh, that just sounds so informal and childish."

I glanced quickly over to Dr. Watson who stared out the window across from me, fighting to hide the smile that was spreading across his lips. I bit my lip, a strange warm feeling bubbling up in my chest as I joked, "Well, you are talking to the one wearing cowboy boots. How about I reserve 'Dad' for when we aren't in public?"

"That is tolerable," Sherlock—I mean, Dad—answered. I stared at him for a long moment and watched as he too fought to maintain a straight face. I leaned back in my seat and smiled freely. For the first time since Mom had died, I felt as if I was surrounded by family.

And it happened when we were on our way to see dead bodies.

Well, I guess there was a time for everything. I was glad Mom had given me her diary and that Josh had let me take this trip. At first, I was afraid Sherlock would stay as cold as he started out, but even he had a heart, and I somehow managed to wriggle my way into it.

But, Dad being, well, _Dad_, he ruined the moment and said, "but if you could please get rid of that hideous pink and those undignified ear piercings, you would be much easier to deal with."

I shot him a nasty glare in return before saying, "If you want me to change how I look, you're going to have to warm yourself up to me a little more."

"Oh what, you want me to rock you to sleep and sing lullabies while I spoon feed you?" Father retorted. I smacked my face against the palm of my hand and fought to respond, letting Dr. Watson pick a fight with Sherlock in my place as I listened to the two bicker like a married couple the entire way to the police station.

Yeah, Sherlock Holmes was my father alright.


	3. Don't Take Your Kids to Work

Well, I am on a role! Also, apologies if the arguing between Alice and Sherlock tend to go from one extreme to another. In my mind, I picture Sherlock saying something insulting but in his head, he only sees that as blatant observation so that only makes things worse. And also, half of his make-up speeches are because John (and eventually the others) make him (he's like a little kid, I love it!), plus she kind of grows on him, after all, it's not every day our favorite consulting detective is with someone who speaks his language! :)

Well, anyway,

ENJOI

* * *

**Alice**

When we arrived to the hospital, I followed my father, trying to stay at his heels so I wouldn't lose him, but he and Dr. Watson both walked at such an incredibly fast pace, I was practically jogging to keep up. We approached an elevator and Father pressed the button. As we waited, he spun around in a circle, bouncing slightly.

"Ah, it's Christmas!" he cheered. I shoved my hands in my pockets and glanced over at Dr. Watson with a confused look.

"He enjoys difficult cases," the doctor explained with a low voice.

"I'm surprised you don't," Dad interjected, pointing at me. I felt my face flush and I shrugged lightly, not sure how to respond.

"Well, since my life has been mainly school, choir, and my little brother, I haven't really been on a case. And the streets of Cedar Groves don't see a lot of crime. Really the police there are only ever called in to move a cow off the road," I stumbled quickly. At that, my father all but rolled his eyes at me.

"Oh, it must be so peaceful in that under used mind of yours," he sighed heavily, "I vaguely remember those days before I knew the adrenaline rush classic deduction could cause. Such a placid mind you still have."

"Sherlock!" Dr. Watson scolded as I cocked my head to the side. What the hell was he talking about? Shrugging his nonsense off, I stepped in the elevator with the two men and watched as Dad pressed the button to take us to the top floor: Autopsy.

* * *

**Molly**

This was dreadful. That poor man was strangled to death by his own belt. Who would have wanted to do such a thing? By the looks of it, not the body before her. It was almost as if he didn't want to hang himself.

Molly Hooper had just taken out her scalpel and was about to make an incision to inspect the body when Mr. Sherlock Holmes practically broke down the doors and strutted into the Autopsy room, his gorgeous porcelain face as smug as ever. Molly looked up and smiled politely, struggling to keep her blush down as he walked with John at his side like always. Her smile fell to a confused stare when she noticed the petite girl at Sherlock's heels.

"Oh! Sherlock! How are you?" Molly asked, suddenly remembering her manners. She stood up from her slightly bent-over position and set the scalpel down, eyeing the new face curiously. She had dark feathery hair much like Sherlock's but it didn't curl nearly as much, but instead fell to her shoulders in light waves and layers, the bottom-most layer dyed a light pink. Her sharp blue eyes hid behind the bangs that bounced along her forehead as she looked around in slight awe, her rosy lips kept tightly closed and her cheeks flushed slightly against her pale cheek bones. And the way she carried herself…she didn't have nearly the confidence but the way she took her long strides (in the most adorable cowboy boots, too) with her hands in her pockets, her eyes focused on the task at hand, Molly could have sworn the girl was the spitting image of Sherlock.

Molly tried to keep from staring as she approached the trio, but she glanced over at the girl who quickly put on a polite smile. She then asked, "Who is your new friend? Is she family, Sherlock? She looks an awful lot like you."

The girl then took the chance to step forward and hold out her hand. "Hi, I'm Allie—" the girl began with a heavy American accent, but she looked up at Sherlock who shot her a stern glare, "—Um, Alice. Pleasure to meet you."

Oh! She was just the sweetest thing! Molly couldn't contain her smile as she shook hands with the girl and said, "Well, hello, Allie! I'm Molly, I'm a friend of Sherlock's and John's here, I'm in charge of the autopsies. Now, are you a relative of Sherlock's? A cousin perhaps?"

"Actually," Allie began, her eyes shifting slightly. Sherlock then stepped forward and without a care in the world, he just about crushed all of Molly's hopes and dreams with four simple words.

"_Alice_ is my daughter," was all Sherlock said. Molly's smile fell instantaneously as she released her grip on Allie's hand. Now she could see the resemblance. She had Sherlock's eyes. And those gorgeous cheek bones of his…she had never known Sherlock was in a relationship to begin with!

Allie also appeared to have Sherlock's incredible ability to read people, except she was much more in tune to human emotions than Sherlock because she just about read Molly's discomfort and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder explaining, "Out of wedlock, of course. I was a, um…experiment. That's always been the joke of the family. My mom was an exchange student from the U.S. in college and…you know how people are in college!"

At that, Molly accidentally let out a sigh of relief and her smile returned. "Oh! Of course! Well, it's lovely to meet you, Allie!"

"_Alice_," Sherlock snapped back. Molly's heart skipped a beat, wondering what she said to get such an angry tone from the detective, but as she glanced over at Allie, the girl merely rolled her eyes and shot Sherlock a glare.

"Dad-!" she started, but once again, Sherlock cut her off.

"That's _Father_ to you, young lady. I thought we agreed that you wouldn't be so informal in public," the detective snapped back.

"Okay, _Father_, she can call me Allie if she wants to. Everyone does. It's not a big deal," Allie tried to explain, but that only angered the consulting detective more.

"Nicknames are disgusting!" Sherlock all but growled, "They are for uneducated fools who can't pronounce a proper name that was given to a child at birth. They repel me, so stop pretending to act like an idiot and use your brain properly. There is nothing wrong with the name 'Alice'!"

"And there's nothing wrong with the name 'Allie' either!" Allie shouted back, "Why do you have to protest just about everything I do? I thought we were starting to get along!"

"We don't get along, Alice," Sherlock retorted in a low voice, "I simply give orders and you follow them. Protesting my decisions will result in disownment."

Allie scrunched her nose in disgust much like Molly had seen Sherlock do as she snapped, "oh, like the past seventeen years haven't been enough?"

"I didn't even know you were alive!" Sherlock roared.

"Children!" John stepped in between them, his face red with unadulterated anger, "Can we _please_ go somewhere without you two getting into arguments? Allie! Cut the attitude _now_! Sherlock! Stop arguing with everything your daughter says or does, she's practically an adult!"

Allie and Sherlock glared at each other for a long moment before they both let out exasperated sighs and turned away with Allie muttering, "This is going to take us longer than I thought…"

Straightening himself out, Sherlock turned back to Molly and asked, "May I see the bodies of the three cabinet members that were hanged?"

Looking from Allie to Sherlock and back, Molly nodded hesitantly and answered, "of course."

Sherlock walked over to the body that was already out and motioned for John to pick up the scalpel while Molly took Allie to help her unzip the other two body bags, the entire time, Allie watched with fascinated eyes.

"I haven't gotten too far with the autopsy, but it's clear that none of these deaths were a result of suicide," Molly explained, "the man you are looking at now appears to have fought the killer even as he was being strangled to death."

"Yes," Sherlock responded, only half-paying attention. Oh, he was so beautiful when he was focused. "He snapped his neck in the process as well. That's what really killed him."

"So how can you tell all of that?" Allie asked. Molly smiled brightly and began to answer Allie's question when Sherlock scoffed.

"Oh, please, isn't it obvious?" Sherlock spat, giving Allie a sharp glance. Allie's shoulders stiffened as if she was going to argue with her father yet again, but Sherlock shook his head and sighed in near defeat, saying, "I thought I saw some dismal intelligence in you when you made the correct deduction about our suspected killers, but you've clearly spent too much time with idiots and now your brain is rotting. You're of no use to me."

At that, Allie appeared to have deflated as she attempted to defend herself, "I haven't seen cadavers before. I didn't even get to dissect a cat in Bio…"

"Precisely," Sherlock retorted, "you're just as stupid as everyone else. I don't know why you bothered to come here. Hardly worth calling my daughter…"

"Sherlock!" John and Molly both shouted. Sherlock looked up with a confused expression as if he didn't know what he said that was so wrong. He probably didn't. However, Allie's face flushed a bright red before paling to a shade of green. Shifting around awkwardly on her feet, Allie looked around, fighting to make eye contact with her father.

"I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment to you," Allie spat, her voice shaking, "but I managed to get this far on my own, didn't I? But I guess nothing I do is good enough, you're just like everyone else back home, you filthy bastard!"

With that, Allie stomped out of the autopsy room, slamming the door as hard as she could with all three adults staring at her with wide eyes. Sherlock turned to John and Molly and asked, "What's wrong with her?"

"Good job," John sighed incredulously, "Nicely…nicely done, Sherlock. I don't know if you'll be able to fix that one."

"Well, at least she's out of our hair now," Sherlock said monotonously. At that, Molly narrowed her eyes in slight disgust.

"You always say the meanest things," she muttered, "and I understand if it's to me, but…that's your daughter!"

"Of whom I met yesterday," Sherlock said, looking up with a pointed stare. "And she's correct, she lived seventeen years without me, she can do it again. Better off living with that underused mind of hers if she's going to continue living in that dreadful town she's always talking about."

"Wait, you met her _yesterday_?" Molly asked with utter confusion. Both men looked up at her as if she had three heads before Sherlock answered her question.

"Yes, she came to our flat yesterday claiming she had a case for me, hoping I could locate her father. As it turned out, she researched me and her mother wrote about me in her diary from college so Alice concluded that I needed to take a paternity test with her," Sherlock explained with a quick voice. "I don't know why, though. She has her mother, her brother and her stepfather and she lives in the middle of nowhere. She's wasting her time trying to gain my approval."

"And yet you're scolding her for her personal choices?" John asked, raising his voice.

Sherlock's eyes shifted back and forth before he answered, "Yes. Like I said, she is wasting her time so she should stop trying."

"Sherlock, her mum is dead," John scolded, placing his hands on his hips, "she's come all this way from America and you're just—"

"Yes, John, I know," Sherlock sighed heavily. He sat up and turned to face the doctor. "You've lectured me about this three times in the past two days. I am well aware of her circumstances and frankly, I do not care. A dead mum and sentimentality is not a reason to look for a father who has had no place in her life. She's an idiot, John. She's wasting my time."

"Have either of you thought that maybe her mum isn't the only reason Allie came here?" Molly asked suddenly. Her heart broke thinking about what poor Allie must have been going through, and she put on such a sweet smile too. "If all she had to go off of was a diary entry to find you, I would say she was pretty smart, wouldn't you agree?"

Sherlock gave Molly a confused stare but then answered, "Her mum was involved in prostitution to pay for her education. She wrote about hundreds of lovers. But it really isn't that hard to narrow down a list that broad. It's quite an obvious deduction to make. She just got lucky with finding me."

"Obvious to you," Molly spat back. She may have felt affection towards Sherlock, but even he could get on her last nerve, and she was juts appalled by the way he was treating Allie. "But I think you're the only one who can see the world in that way. Except for Allie of course, but unlike you, she cares what people think of her. I can't imagine that you have many friends, Sherlock, nor can I imagine that people understand you. But you don't care about any of that. Allie does, even I can see that."

At that, Sherlock's curiosity peaked and he gave Molly a confused look, "What are you proposing?"

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe Allie didn't come here because she thought you were her father?" Molly asked. "Do you think maybe she came because she _hoped_ you were her father?"

"I-I'm not sure I follow," John said suddenly, putting his hands in his pockets. Sherlock looked just as confused.

At that, Molly stamped her foot to the ground, her patience worn thing as she shouted, "You blokes! Sherlock, you're the only person in the world who can understand Allie! She came here because she needs you, whether she knows it or not!"

And with that, Molly Hooper stormed out of the room with Sherlock and John both staring at her with wide eyes. When she started down the hall outside to look for Allie, she was surprised to hear someone singing in the distance.

* * *

**Alice**

That bastard! Why the hell was I related to such an asshole? I stomped down the halls of the hospital getting myself lost. When I had all but given up on fighting the furious tears, I sat down on a bench and curled my legs to my chest, hugging my knees.

"Why did I even come here?" I mumbled to myself. At around that moment, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Sitting up, I wiped my eyes and pulled it out. My eyes widened when I saw the pop-up on my phone screen.

_Text message from: Michael Jones_

"_You're dad said you were in England!? Is everything okay?"_

I sighed and leaned my head against the wall, trying to fight both angry tears and now a smile. I could just imagine Michael's panicked meanderings. I had promised Josh that I would call Michael the night before, but my wonderful father sort of got in the way of that. I figured I owed Michael a response at this point. I opened the message and began to type my response:

"_Yeah. Come to find out, Sherlock Holmes is my FATHER. A real bastard, too. I don't think I'll be home any time soon…my Uncle who apparently runs the government here has made a point to get to know me this summer and Josh told me that I should at least get to know my real dad…I don't think this was my best idea…"_

I sent the message and a few minutes later, my phone buzzed again.

"_Why is that?"_

I furrowed my brow and responded, _"Because it's lonelier here than it was at home."_

When my phone buzzed again, I was half expecting a smartass and slightly charming remark from Michael, but my heart nearly stopped in my chest when I read his reply:

"_Well that's why you have me. I won't let you feel alone this summer. But I g2g. Plane is about to take off."_

What? I quickly typed my response, horribly confused.

"_Plane to where?"_

"_We'll see you in 8 hours."_

After that, Michael didn't respond to any of my texts. That idiot…he wasn't flying all the way to London…was he? And who was 'we'? I groaned, leaning my head in between my legs as I scratched at my scalp furiously. This morning went from a false hope to yet another nightmare. Coming to London was a horrible _horrible _idea.

As I sat quietly, my mind began drifting off to memories of my mom. It was a severe understatement to say that I missed her. She always loved to sing, never letting anything get her down. Even when I would come home from the worst of days, I knew I would be greeted by the smell of her cooking and the sound of her warm voice. She and Michael got me to join choir and I hadn't stopped singing since. Well, before she got sick at least. Since then, I haven't found it in myself to sing along even with the radio. It just didn't feel right knowing that she would never join in with whatever tune I had stuck in my head again. In that moment, however, as I thought of last Christmas when we dragged Josh, Max, Michael, and his sister Emily out caroling with us. Suddenly, without even thinking, I opened my mouth and began whispering lyrics to her favorite song, "Defying Gravity" from the musical Wicked. When I realized what I was doing, I sat up abruptly and looked around. No one was around within earshot…shrugging, I closed my eyes and belted out the song as loud as I could, part of me not caring who heard.

"…and nobody, in all of Oz is ever gonna bring….meee dooow-" I started to sing towards the end of the song, but as I turned my head I jumped, closing my mouth shut tightly when I saw Molly watching me, her hands folded together with a warm smile on her face. She clearly adored me, but for what reason, I did not know. She had the biggest crush on Dad and I was his illegitimate daughter with a bad attitude. Off in the back of my mind, I tucked the realization away that Molly could easily be the girl on Dad's mind that I saw when he had me…observe him the day before. There was someone he had hidden affections towards that he saw with frequency. If he went straight to Molly for murder cases, they would have to spend quite a lot of time together. Molly was infatuated with him and he seemed to have no idea how to interact with Molly at all. I gulped down a smile and then remembered that she overheard me singing.

"You have a beautiful voice," Molly said, "have you taken lessons?"

I shrugged, scooting over so she could sit next to me, "Not unless you count my mom as a teacher. She was very musical. Taught me how to play the piano and guitar. We used to sing together all the time and she convinced me to join my school's choir."

"You're quite the singer," Molly said again, "you could get record deals with a voice like that." I nodded politely and she looked away for a moment, trying to find the right words to say before she looked back at me and said, "I am so sorry to hear about your mum, Allie. I truly am. And listen, about your father…don't pay no mind to Sherlock, he says things sometimes that can be really mean. I just don't think he knows how to work with people and with the world he sees…I can't imagine that he's had an easy life."

I nodded my hand and managed to choke out, "It's fine. And I'm sure he hasn't with an attitude like that…but then again, I am his daughter. I've said a lot of stupid things too myself…"

Molly gave me a curious and sad look before she finally asked, "Why did you come here? Sherlock and John both seem to be under the impression that you knew exactly who your father was without taking a blood test and I can't imagine that it had to do with just your mother."

I let out a heavy sigh. She was the first person to ask me that question and I wasn't sure I was ready to answer it. When I finally gathered the courage to speak, I turned to face Molly and opened my mouth, but snapped it shut when I saw a tall and skinny figure leaning against the wall behind Molly.

"Father," I said in a low voice, "Or should I just give up and call you Sherlock?"

"No, 'Father' is still fine," Dad said in a clipped tone. Molly jumped and turned to face my dad with wide eyes, her face flushing.

"Sherlock! How long have you been standing here?" she asked.

"Since John yelled at me to follow you and I subsequently heard singing," he answered. He glared at me and without thinking began to scold me once more, "Really, Alice, you need to have—" but suddenly, Dad stopped himself. He took a deep breath, and then looked at me with a genuine expression, his sharp eyes softening as he tried again, "where did you learn to sing?"

"M-my Mom," I stuttered, not sure where he was going with this. Dad nodded, his eyes drifting off to a memory.

"I seem to remember Jessica in a school production of Les Miserables just before she returned home," he noted, "she played Fantine. Pitiful thing was vomiting profusely just before the curtain call. Everyone thought it was nerves but…I suspected she had gotten pregnant. Never thought I'd be right…"

I shot Dad a glare, not daring to trust him again as I asked, "Why are you telling me all of this? I know what my mom was, you don't have to remind me."

"What do you think she was?" Dad asked me suddenly, "I implied nothing but all I saw in your mother was a pathetic woman trapped in her own skin and her family's miserable luck. A resourceful woman who's head was in the clouds, wishing she could dream but was stuck in the cold miserable reality that she would never become what she truly wanted."

"Shut up!" I screamed back at him, once again fighting tears. "It's bad enough you're always criticizing me but I'm not letting you talk bad about my mom!"

"Who ever said I was speaking poorly of her?" Dad then asked, "You jump to conclusions too quickly, Alice. I'm simply stating the facts. I cannot deduce whether she was right or wrong in her decisions, though I will point out that they may have not been the smartest. She would never be able to achieve her dreams and because of that she died young. But you…she had high hopes for you. You have that distant look I remember, but unlike your mother, you're able to observe, read people. Your skills are poor and you're incredibly stubborn, but your mother sent you to me because she knew that you could achieve things that even she couldn't dream of. And you didn't just come to me because it was her dying wish, did you."

I narrowed my eyes at Dad, not knowing what to think. Was that a complement or was he just being an ass? The detective put on a blank expression, awaiting my response and in that moment, I could not read him for the life of me. Molly looked from Dad to me and back before standing abruptly and saying, "I'll just leave you two be, then!" and walked off.

When we were alone, I stood slowly. I was tall for a girl my age, but even in my boots, the top of my head only reached Dad's chin. I looked up at him and shook my head, asking, "Why are you telling me this?"

Dad let out a heavy sigh and hesitantly began, "Because I think…well, John thinks and I'm just—you know what, ignore that last bit. What I'm trying to say is…" Dad's voice raised in anger slightly as he stuttered, obviously frustrated. He let out a groan, his gaze cold for a moment before it melted again and his voice softened to say, "I think we both need to start this over. For real this time. I'll…try not to insult you or criticize your lack of intuition—not to say that in a bad way—if you can tame that attitude of yours. Give me another chance, and I'll give you one."

I bit my lip to keep my jaw from dropping, but I nodded my head and agreed, "I think I'd like that."

Dad nodded and held out his hand, "Sherlock Holmes. Consulting Detective and your father. Pleasure to meet you."

I gave a small smile and shook his hand, saying, "I'm Allie—Alice Rhodes. Your daughter."

"Right then, well, I've seen all that I needed to see," Dad explained. He looked down and pulled out his phone, searching for something on it with one hand while the other fell into his pocket. "If we had more time, I would take you into the autopsy room to examine the bodies, but for now, you'll have to come up on your own time and study under Molly. I'm sure she wouldn't mind. Shall we meet with John and leave?"

"Sure thing," I said, skipping slightly to catch up with Dad as he turned to leave the building. We walked in silence to the elevator, as we stepped in it, however, Dad just _had_ to make one final point. Granted, I was proud of him for refraining from opening his big mouth for this long.

"Did you have a nose ring at one point?" he asked suddenly.

With my eyes facing forward, I answered, "A small one, yes. I was experimenting with my fashion sense a little bit last year. Turns out facial piercings aren't exactly my thing."

"But pink hair, cowboy boots, and ear piercings are?" Dad asked with disdain in his voice. I shot him a pointed glare; I thought he was done criticizing me! "I'm not criticizing, I'm simply making observations," Dad said, reading my thoughts.

I sighed heavily and said, "I only have seven on my ears."

"_Only_ seven?" Dad asked, slightly disgusted.

"Three on my right ear lobe, two on my left plus an industrial on my left cartilage," I explained.

"My god," Dad groaned, "You don't have a tattoo, do you?"

"Butterflies on a cherry blossom on my right shoulder blade," I said. Dad turned his nose up at that and I rolled my eyes, "You said you weren't criticizing!"

"I'm not!" Dad protested, "I'm…just…"

"Repulsed?" I asked, reading his expression.

"Well, yes," Dad said, "But not the way you think."

"Oh? Care to explain?" I asked incredulously. At that point we reached the main floor of the hospital and the elevator doors opened as we stepped out. Dr. Watson was waiting for us in the lobby while Dad was still trying to form his words. Dr. Watson gave us a confused expression, not sure if we had made up or if we still hated each other. At this point, I wasn't so sure myself.

"Well…doesn't it…" Dad began, "Isn't that painful?"

As they were the first words to come out of his mouth since Dr. Watson had seen us, both the doctor and I shot Dad very confused looks. That was not at all what I was expecting.

"Doesn't what hurt?" Dr. Watson asked.

"Piercings and a tattoo," I answered. I eyed Dad who nodded his head cringing. Finally, I managed to ask, "Okay, with _all_ of the things you've gotten yourself into, surely one small tattoo and a few piercings aren't nearly all that bad."

"Well, yes," Dad admitted, "but the needles…and the ink being injected to your flesh."

Both mine and Dr. Watson's jaws dropped. Of all the things for my father to get squeamish over…

"Well, anyway, where are we off to?" Dr. Watson asked suddenly, shaking us all out of our states of mild disbelief.

"The Yard," Dad answered curtly, pushing past Dr. Watson and I and striding out of the revolving doors. "I have a few questions to ask Lestrade about our victims."

The visit with Inspector Lestrade took less than ten minutes and Dad was bolting out the doors to hale a taxi, babbling complete nonsense, his expression as smug as ever. I glanced over at Dr. Watson, horribly confused but the doctor merely shrugged.

"Oh, it's so obvious!" Dad cheered, whether it was a happy cheer or a disappointed cheer, I was not sure.

"I'm sorry, but what's so obvious?" I asked, dumbfounded. " I get that the victims were all lobbying for a program to help stabilize India's economy and that there were some people who have strongly protested that because it would mean higher taxes for the wealthier families but…who is this guy we're looking for?"

"Carraway! Don't you see?" Dad exclaimed, flailing his arms in the air. I gave him a blank expression and his manic smile fell, "Alice, don't make me take back my compliment of your intelligence."

I narrowed my eyes and asked, "That was a compliment? You said I was barely smart enough to understand primary school logic!"

"Of course it was a compliment! Have you seen the idiots we're surrounded by?" Dad asked. I held in a groan at that.

"Well, regardless, I'm not from here, Dad! The only big names I'm familiar with here are Churchill and the royal family!" I protested. At that, a wave of realization struck Dad's eyes and he swallowed any other insults that waited to escape his mouth.

"Of course," he said curtly. At that point, a taxi pulled up to the curb and we all stepped in, Dad instructing the driver to take us to the Carraway mansion. He then turned to me and explained, "Robert Carraway is the wealthiest man in the country besides the royal family. The Carraway family was dead set against the shift from monarchy to parliament and Robert's grandfather fought vigorously against Churchill and his foreign policies. He openly argues against helping other countries, even tried to fraud the bid for the Olympics so he wouldn't have to sacrifice his riches for the Games' sake. However, he also has his hand in the auto industry and opened several factories in India. He makes several trips there throughout the year and most of his factory workers are Indians that dropped out of school at a young age."

"So obviously, he hired his 'employees' to take out the cabinet members," I guessed, "he must have convinced them somehow that the proposition they were lobbying for would hurt India's economy even more."

"Precisely," Dad said, his eyes focused. When we reached the disgustingly large mansion, we practically spilled out of the car only to look up and find rifles and pistols pointed at us.

"Uh," I muttered. "You didn't tell me there would be guns…"

"There are almost always guns," Dr. Watson said. He then grazed his hand against his belt and I noticed two handguns tucked away. He gave me a knowing look and I nodded my head slightly. Somehow, I needed to get that second handgun from him.

"You filthy white man!" one of the men spat at Dad, "you dare take more away from our country?"

"I have no affiliation with the government, so if you could please refrain from aiming your horrible breath at me, that would be much appreciated," Dad spat back. The man shot him a glare and then shouted something at the man whose gun was aimed at me in some other language. The man nodded and lunged towards me, grasping hold of me by the hair and pulling me to his chest, his nasty hand holding my neck loosely. I let out a yelp and tried everything I could to keep from hyperventilating, but suddenly and deathly cold fear struck my heart.

"On your feet!" the man who I guessed was the leader ordered. Dad and Dr. Watson both rose slowly, their eyes fixated on me. Sweat started beading at my forehead and I shut my eyes tightly, straining to keep from screaming when I felt a gun barrel placed on the side of my head.

"Let her go," Dad said in a cool voice, "she has nothing to do with this."

"Mr. Carraway will be the one to decide that," the leader spat and the next thing we knew, I was being gagged and bound as we were led into the mansion where a plump man with way too much product in his hair wearing a tuxedo waited for us.

"I take it you are Sherlock Holmes?" the man asked my dad. His eyes drifted to Dr. Watson and he said, "and you must be the blogger…but who is this pretty little thing?" Two men shoved me down to my knees and Carraway bent down and placed his hand under my chin. My eyes widened. Everything on this man screamed "Pedophile", "Self-centered", "Human Trafficker", and in general, "Disgusting" and I had a horrible feeling that I knew what he planned for me if we didn't get out of here quick. I glanced over at Dad and though he maintained a calculating look, his face had turned green when he looked Robert Carraway over and his gaze immediately shifted to me, so I knew that he saw it too, if not, something even worse.

When neither Dad nor Dr. Watson answered, Carraway snapped his fingers and one man removed my gag while another planted his gun barrel on the top of my head. He looked down at me and asked, "What is your name?"

I glared fiercely at him and spat, "Allie."

"Allie, what?" he asked, trying to place my accent.

I licked my dried lips and on the off chance the grotesque man lived and decided to look for me, I used Josh's surname, "Allie Bloomington."

"An American? Well, this is interesting," Robert Carraway snickered. He then turned back to Dad and asked, "Mr. Holmes, why did you bring such a pretty little American girl to my doorstep? Compensation for information perhaps? I'm impressed you knew about this, I don't like to make my…affairs public."

"You're repulsive," was all Dad could say. I couldn't tell if he was just disgusted or genuinely concerned for my well-being, but I took the chance to eye the men in the room over while Dad and Dr. Watson were clearly stalling for time to think of a plan. Obviously, they would go after me first, whether they did it in front of Dad and John or took me away to some prison cell, I wasn't sure. I identified the organs and weak spots on Carraway's body before glancing at the other men. When Dad said Carraway's employees were uneducated, he wasn't kidding. The man who had grabbed me outside the mansion held me in a grip I didn't even recognize. It must have been some choke hold, but had it not been for the gun, I would have easily freed myself from that. My main problems at the moment were my bound hands and the gun on my head, but the knot that held the rope together was poorly tied and I had almost worked my hands free, plus there was only one gunman aiming at me and he was practically standing on top of me with his crotch in perfect striking distance.

Now that I had centered myself and calmed down, I had to suppress a grin. Ever since I was little, I had a bad habit of calling people out and bringing bullies' fists towards my face. However, unlike my father who learned to pick people's brains apart and confuse the hell out of them, my mother and I both preferred physical abuse. So when Josh realized that I didn't know how to pick my own fights and started coming home with black eyes and a broken nose with too much frequency, he signed me up for self-defense classes. End result: black belt in tai kwan do. This would be too easy.

As I began to move, my adrenaline kicking into overdrive, everything seemed to slow down. I glanced over at my father with a sly smile on his face and realization flashed across his eyes. I worked my hands free of the rope and rolled forward into a summer sault, using my momentum to snatch the gun out of my former captor's hands and kick my legs straight up into his crotch with such force, he crumpled to the ground and lost consciousness. I continued a full rotation and landed on my feet in a squatting position and sprung up, grabbing the back of Carraway's neck and pushing it down while slamming my knee into his nose. He let out a scream in pain and fell to his knees before I spun around to find three other men coming after me. John and Dad both took the opportunity to cripple their own captors and I grabbed hold of the man on my left and threw him into the other two.

"Allie!" John cried out and I spun around to find Carraway lunging at me with a knife in his hand. Without thinking, I raised the gun in my hand and pulled the trigger. The next thing I knew, my ears were recovering from the loud bang and Carraway was bleeding out on the floor. The world sped back up and my heart pounded in my ears as I panted in a cold sweat.

As I fought to catch my breath, Dad lunged forward and gripped me hard by the shoulders, shaking me lightly. I let out a small cry as he asked, "Why did you do that?"

"H-He had a knife!" I stammered, "And he's the bad guy, you're supposed to kill the bad guy, right?"

"You idiot!" Dad yelled at me, "He had information! We don't even know why he killed people or why and how he hired Indians to commit the crimes!"

"Sherlock, calm down!" John scolded. We both glanced over to see him kneeling by Carraway, his fingers grazing the gunshot wound slightly. "He's not dead, this wound is not fatal. In shock, yes, but he's still alive. We need to call the police first."

Both of us now panting, Dad and I looked from John and back to each other. The detective licked his lips and asked, "Are you alright?"

I nodded my head, struggling to find the words. Dad in response let out an agitate roar.

"No! Of course you aren't alright! You just shot a man!" Dad cried out.

"D-Dad, I'm fine!" I choked back.

"No you're not fine! He could have killed you!" Dad protested.

"DAD!" I screamed as loud as I could. By this point I was shaking, and as I looked into his ice blue eyes, I realized that so was he. Swiftly, Dad let go of me and cleared his throat, almost immediately regaining his composure. When he released me, I grew weak in the knees and struggled to stay standing. He was right…I…I just shot someone. Beating them to a pulp was one thing…but I used a _gun_!

"John, you call the police, we're done here," Dad croaked. "Tell them that Mr. Carraway is a suspected Trafficker. They'll need to conduct a full search of this house to find any victims."

"W-Wait, Human Trafficking?" John stuttered. "Where in the bloody hell did you get that he was a Human Trafficker?"

"Didn't you see that look in his eye when he saw Alice? That expression screamed pedophile," Dad answered curtly.

I nodded my head, still shaking but agreed, "I saw it too."

The police arrived within minutes to take Carraway to the hospital and arrest his thugs. Sure enough, thirteen girls between the ages of ten and twenty were being held in his basement and they too were rushed to the hospital and their families were notified. I was taken to an ambulance to get treated for shock as I could not stop trembling and I nearly fainted from a dizzy spell. John sat beside me and gave me words of comfort and encouragement and joked about the wreck he was in after killing someone for the first time in Afghanistan. His comfort calmed me down as I drank hot coffee from a thermos and Dad spoke with Lestrade. He was clearly unhappy when he came skulking back to us.

"The police are going to question Carraway further once he's stable enough for interrogation," he announced. "As there are really no more mysteries to this case, our work here is done."

"You don't sound too happy about that," I pointed out.

"Of course not! This case was dreadful and you didn't let me finish it!" he spat. I felt a chill run up my spine and my heart sank at his words. What did I mess up this time? I guess my expression must have been clear because one look at me and Dad averted his gaze, correcting his words, "What I mean is…the case was not as interesting as I hoped it would have been. But I'm glad you are alright."

I forced a small smile and nodded my head, "Thanks. And sorry I shot the guy before you could get information out of him."

"No, no, it was self-defense," Dad said aloofly. He then turned back to me and added, "once you're feeling better we'll get dinner."

"Oh good!" I cheered, shooting up to my feet. The sudden motion made my tunnel vision return and I swayed slightly, nearly collapsing, but Dad stepped forward and caught me. I shook my head slightly and held it for a moment before I pushed off of Dad into a standing position and looked up to him saying, "I'm starving."

"Are you sure you're alright?" John asked. "You are in shock after all."

"Oh, I'm fine," I said, "I've gotten beaten up ten times worse than this before."

"Which reminds me," Dad pointed out, "where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Black belt in Tai Kwan Do," I answered grinning. I was rewarded with glimmering eyes and a small, almost invisible smile much like the one Dad gave me when I first helped him figure out who the killers mentioned in the paper were.

"Well, come along then," Dad said and he spun on his heel to leave as the three of us walked away from the crime scene. I glanced up at Dad and John periodically, a small smile creeping on my face.

Dad was right: the science of deduction and solving crimes was exhilarating.

* * *

**Sherlock**

_He wasn't sure how he got there, but suddenly, he found himself sitting up from his bed and discovering it to be a chair outside a hospital room. He glanced down, his nightwear was replaced with scrubs and in the door to the room he stood outside of, he heard a woman's screams. _

_Curiosity getting the better of him, Sherlock opened the door to find a face from the past lying in the hospital bed with her legs lifted in the air and doctors surrounding her. He hadn't seen Jessica Rhodes since he dropped her off at the airport after the last of her final exams. _

"_You're almost there," one doctor said with an American accent. Her hair and face were covered by a mask and hair net. Jessica let out a loud scream which stopped abruptly and was replaced by a baby's cries. Sherlock watched as Jessica's expression changed from a pained one to a mixture of relief and an emotion Sherlock couldn't quite place. Tears spilled out of her eyes as doctors carried the source of the cries over to her. All Sherlock could see of the baby were its kicking legs, still bloodied from its mother's bodily fluids. _

"_Oh my baby girl!" Jessica cried as they placed the baby on her chest. She looked up at Sherlock and said suddenly, "Come here and meet her."_

_Was that child his? Sherlock had no memory of such an incident. He hadn't even known that Jessica was pregnant. But as he walked towards the woman in child in the hospital bed, the scenery changed from a foreign dream to a distant memory, a memory which reminded Sherlock that he had known. He walked across the campus of Oxford, making his way towards Jessica who sat underneath a large tree. After the night of his experiment, Sherlock discovered that Jessica Rhodes was in his chemistry class when the professor assigned them as lab partners. They spoke briefly every now and then, and after taking pity on the woman's situation, Sherlock figured he could at least save up money to help pay for a plane ticket home once the semester had ended. Sherlock quickly realized that this was the morning after Jessica's performance in Les Mis, when he discovered her in the bathroom just minutes before curtain vomiting uncontrollably. She still looked to be a shade of green, but she suddenly acquired a craving for strawberries. _

_Jessica glanced up at Sherlock as he approached her and she gave him an uncertain smile. Sherlock sat down beside Jessica and he gave her the notes she had missed in class that morning. As he observed the woman's movements, her hands protectively placed on her stomach, Sherlock couldn't help but remember that his experiment with her had been three and a half months prior. She wore baggy clothing, obviously not advertising her desperation any longer. Either she had acquired the funds she needed or…_

"_Listen, about last night," she began suddenly, "I'm very sorry about that. I've had these fits lately, like a stomach bug that gets switched on and off."_

"_Do you need to see a physician?" Sherlock asked, "if this continues, you might not be allowed to fly home next week."_

"_I'm not sure I'll even be able to afford it," Jessica sighed heavily. Sherlock pursed his lips together and wondered if this were the correct time to give her the money. Deciding it was, he reached into his wallet and pulled out a check he had written the night before, handing it to her. Jessica's eyes widened and she glanced at him in awe, "What are you-? Why?"_

"_It would be a mistake to let someone as intelligent as you rot away on the streets," Sherlock admitted. "Besides, you're the closest thing I have to a friend, I can't waste it."_

_Jessica looked from Sherlock to the check in her hand when suddenly her face flushed and tears began to well up in her eyes._

"_Oh come now, you don't need to be sentimental," Sherlock began, but Jessica shook her head vigorously._

"_Sherlock, I'm pregnant," she explained, "and there's a good chance she might be yours."_

_At that, Sherlock's heart stopped. He let out a mix between a gasp and a sig. After a long silence, the first thing he managed to say was, "If you're going back home…then how are you…how are we…?"_

"_Sherlock," Jessica said, forcing herself to smile, "whatever happens to me, I don't want you to feel any responsibility or obligation to it. Everything that has happened to me is my own fault. Besides, I'm not going to keep the baby. I can't even afford nine months' worth of doctor's appointments, much less raising her."_

_Once again, Sherlock was at a loss for words. In all his life, he had never thought of family, never thought of anything sentimental. And now, he couldn't believe he was asking this: "You aren't going to abort it…are you?"_

_Jessica shrugged, "I kind of have to. If my parents find out…no, not just that, Sherlock, I can't even afford to take care of myself! And you are not going to bear the responsibility of this. This is my fault, not yours. She might not even be yours anyway."_

"_I-I understand," Sherlock stammered, though he wasn't sure he did. Then, he had the nerve to ask, "did you say it was a girl?"_

_Jessica nodded her head, "that's what the doctor told me."_

"_When?"_

"_Two days ago," she answered. "I went to the clinic a few weeks ago because I wasn't feeling quite right and that's when they gave me the news. They did a karyotype and called me Monday to tell me that the results were back. Everything's normal. She's a healthy baby girl. And I'm not even sure I can keep her."_

_He had no idea what to say to that. Part of him couldn't even recognize the emotions that were swimming through his mind. Was he happy? Confused? Scared? Angry? He didn't know why or how or who those emotions were directed to. After yet another long pause, Jessica looked up at Sherlock and asked, "Sherlock?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_Let's say I was to keep the baby," she began. "And let's say hypothetically you were her father…what would you name her?"_

_Sherlock thought on that for a moment and suddenly he was transported away from his memory and to the hospital room he had never seen before in a memory that did not exist. He looked down and jumped to find a baby in his arms wrapped in a pink bundle. The baby yawned and opened her eyes for the first time, staring in awe at Sherlock with the most vibrant blue eyes the detective had ever seen._

"_What should we name her?" Jessica asked suddenly. Sherlock looked up at the exhausted woman and then back down at the baby in his arms. Suddenly, he remembered what he told Jessica that day, just a week before she disappeared forever. _

"_Alice in Wonderland…" he muttered to himself. Through the Looking Glass had always been one of Sherlock's favorite books growing up and he had always commended Alice's bravery in the story, though looking back now, he knew how incredibly gullible she was. But she never showed fear and she always stood by what she believed in. "Alice," Sherlock said again a little more loudly. _

_Then, just as she had responded underneath the tree at Oxford, Jessica smiled in the dream bed and said, "That's…that's a very pretty name."_

"_I named her…" Sherlock suddenly realized as he began to stir from his state of dreaming. _

_Alice in Wonderland was an imaginative girl who hated being confined by society. She knew she was meant for greater things and she had the courage to stand up for what was right. In his dream, Sherlock felt like an actual parent for a fleeting moment, wondering if his child would live up to her name. And I would certainly say she did. _

Sherlock nearly fell out of his bed when he shot up to a sitting position. He was covered in sweat and his skin stuck to his sheets. He looked around. What in the bloody hell was that? Stumbling out of bed, he observed his surroundings. He was still in his flat, 221B. That had definitely been a dream—it was an understatement to say it was a weird one—but at least part of it was a memory long forgotten.

Sherlock cringed and he held his hand to his chest. Had he just…felt _sentiment_? Oh, that was repulsive! Trying to forget about his borderline nightmare, the detective dressed quickly and stepped out of his room. As he walked into the living room, he found John, Mrs. Hudson, and Alice all sitting in their seats waiting for Sherlock. The detective had to hold in a sigh as his eyes fell on John. The doctor was wearing a dark green button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and he had just the slightest amount of product in his hair. He looked…quite attractive to say the least. Sherlock then glanced over at Alice who had taken a seat on the couch next to where the detective normally sat. She smiled politely up at him and Sherlock was taken aback. He could not for the life of him get that infant's face out of his head! It was all he saw when Alice looked over at him!

"You slept well last night," John pointed out. "I haven't heard you snore like that before."

Sherlock was brought back to reality and he narrowed his eyes at John, saying, "you were asleep in the other room."

"And I could still hear you," John replied. Sherlock pursed his lips down and took a seat next to Alice. He ate in silence while Alice, John, and Mrs. Hudson all exchanged small talk. When they noticed Sherlock wasn't speaking or eating, John shot Sherlock a stern glare, "you can't be bored already!"

"I'm not," Sherlock answered curtly. Alice's brow furrowed slightly as she watched Sherlock's expression, his body facing intently forward with his chin balancing on the space between his thumbs and index fingers while his elbows sat on his knees. The girl then reached forward and grabbed the plate in front of the detective. It was filled with bacon and fried bread covered in syrup.

"Here," she offered with a sweet smile on her face. Sherlock cringed as he glanced at her. That infant's face! And he didn't even know what Alice looked like as a child!

"Alice made it," John explained, stuffing his mouth to the brim. "The Americans call it 'French Toast'. It's quite good."

"I know what French toast is, John!" Sherlock spat, swiping the plate from Alice's hands. The girl's smile fell and she gave the detective a sad glance, and all Sherlock could see was a crying baby's face. Bloody hell, what was this?

"What did I do this time?" she whined.

"Nothing!" Sherlock spat back, stabbing a slice of the bread with his fork and shoveling it in his mouth. John was right, the food was good, but he was too angry at absolutely nothing to enjoy the food, dammit!

Just as the pause between conversation was about to grow awkward, someone knocked loudly on the door, causing Sherlock to turn to it and scream, "SHUT UP!"

"Sherlock, why don't you answer the door for once?" John offered. The detective shot his flatmate a hateful stare.

"No," he said flatly.

"Oh, Sherlock, you never get the door," Mrs. Hudson pleaded. "It would be good for you!"

"Absolutely not!"

"Stop being a baby!" John protested, causing Sherlock to leap in the air and scream. He knocked Alice's plate of her lap and onto the floor as he did so and the girl turned to yell something at him, but he didn't hear.

"What?" John asked.

"Don't say that!"

"Say what?"

"Never mind! I'll get the door!" and with that, Sherlock stormed down the stairs and flung the door open, but his jaw dropped to find two blonde-haired teenagers staring up at him with confused gazes. The girl had long curly hair and an expert hand had applied her makeup, but based on the amount of face powder, the rings under the boy's eyes and their day-old clothes, they had just gotten off the plane and had a bad case of jet lag.

Oh no…

"Is your mother Jessica Rhodes?" was the first question that came to Sherlock's mind. The two teenagers glanced at each other with confused gazes before they turned back to the detective. The boy was the first to speak.

"Um. No." he answered with a matter-of-fact tone. He was quite muscular and his broad shoulders nearly busted out of his worn-out t-shirt. His blonde hair was trimmed but in disarray from travel. Despite that, his well put together appearance and tall stance as well as the naivety in his gaze told Sherlock that he was in the process of enlisting in the military but had yet to go through basic training. Sherlock made the mistake of glancing down at the young man's feet, and sure enough, poking out of the cuffs of his jeans were the tips of boots. Cowboy boots.

Wonderful.

"Then you are not my responsibility," Sherlock stated curtly and began to slam the door, but the boy was quick and pushed the door open at least half way.

"I'm sorry, but I'm looking for Allie Rhodes," he explained. "My name is Michael Jones and this is my sister Emily. We're friends of hers."

As he leaned forward, his eyes intent, Sherlock saw it and it could not be unseen. Alice had _dated_ this bloke? For the love of God!

"There is no Allie Rhodes in this residence. Goodbye," Sherlock said and proceeded to slam the door in the kids' faces but the girl then stepped forward and helped her brother push it back open.

"Her real name is Alice! Is there an Alice Rhodes here? You are Sherlock Holmes, right?" the girl pleaded. Even in travel she wore a dress and this child cared way too much about public appearances. She presumably criticized Alice's fashion choices, but the detective couldn't be certain. Nonetheless, she seemed to show a great deal of concern for Alice's well-being. The boy did to, but knowing that he had affections for Alice put Sherlock off instantaneously. Why? He did not know, but the detective could not stand this Michael Jones. The Emily girl, Sherlock might be able to tolerate, however.

Sighing heavily, Sherlock opened the door a little wider and groaned, "She's upstairs."

Michael all but knocked Sherlock over as he and Emily bounded up the stairs and into his flat. Following close behind the two, Sherlock watched at the doorway as Alice leapt to her feet, her face flushed with complete shock.

"Mike! Emily! What are you guys doing here? Did you guys just get off the plane?" she gasped, running up to them. She and Emily exchanged giddy giggles and a light hug.

"You would not _believe_ what we had to go through to get here! Security was crazy getting to New York!" Emily explained, her mouth running a mile a minute. She then nudged Alice lightly and turned the girl towards Michael. Alice's mouth fell into a small smile and the two stared at each other, not sure what to do, but both eyes sparkled. They had broken off their relationship for some reason, but they both had feelings for each other still.

"Well, I'm glad to see you guys," Alice said in a daze.

Michael smiled warmly and pulled Alice into a tight embrace and they held each other for a little too long. Sherlock watched intently as they spoke quietly to one another, so much so that he did not notice John walk up next to him.

"It seems Allie has a boyfriend," John said with a small smile.

"_Had_ a boyfriend, they broke it off several months ago," Sherlock said in a hushed voice, but John gave him a knowing look. What the doctor knew that Sherlock didn't was beyond him.

"Well, clearly, they still have feelings for each other. It was probably a temporary break-up," John guessed causing Sherlock's face to contort, the feeling of complete and utter disgust boiling up inside him. John then looked over with particularly handsome smile on his face and said the one thing Sherlock did not want to hear: "I don't know Sherlock, but it looks like you'll have some competition."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He might never admit it, but _no one_ would _ever_ be good enough for Alice Rhodes, and if that Michael brat thought he could win her heart, then that kid had another thing coming.


	4. Goodnight

Hey guys! So my apologies because chapters will not be updated as frequently as they should. My computer crashed earlier this week and I've been struggling to recover my things from its hard drive and I've been fighting my parents for use of our desktops. Hopefully the issue will be resolved later on next week, but for now, please enjoy this fluffy chapter. Expect the next chapter to deal with another (hopefully much more exciting) case followed by a slight time-skip. Anyway, I have a cat on my lap demanding my attention so...

ENJOI

* * *

**John**

In just a month and a half, Allie had learned to navigate the streets of London just as well, if not better than Sherlock Holmes. He said better because once Mike and Emily showed up at their doorstep, they were impossible to detach from Allie's hip and every morning at 6:30, Allie would come bounding down the stairs and into John and Sherlock's flat in work-out clothes and as much of her hair tied back as possible searching for an apple or something for a light breakfast before Emily would come knocking on their door and the two girls would take off for a morning jog. An hour and a half later, the two girls would return, giggling quietly with Mike in tow.

As it turned out, not even a girl as resourceful as Allie can roam around a foreign country without her family worrying. Mike and Emily were staying the summer in a hotel across the street from 221B paying for it with the help of their parents and Allie's stepfather as he and her half-brother made plans to fly to London periodically to check in on her. John couldn't help but wonder about that. He got the sense that Allie's family didn't make very much money, and even with the help of Mike and Emily's parents, certainly that would be a struggle for them to afford, even with Allie paying her own way through her trip. He sensed that Allie was worried too, as when her friends told her the news, she gave a hesitant response, her eyes shifting to the side in a calculating manner much like Sherlock's.

Allie couldn't say no to her family and friends, but Sherlock openly detested the idea. He would grumble out of the flat every morning to solve one case after another. Allie accompanied Sherlock and John on a few cases in the two weeks she had been with them so far, but even though her help sped up the process of solving the cases and Sherlock finally had someone to talk to who spoke his language, he openly detested the idea of her help.

"Hey, Dad?" Allie would ask as Sherlock and John would get ready to leave for another crime scene.

If Sherlock did answer it would be either a muffled grunt or an exasperated "What?" after John elbowed him to answer.

Expecting to take anything but 'no' as an answer, Allie would rise to her feet and begin searching for her scarf and coat asking, "Do you want me to help with this case?"

Just about every time, Sherlock would tense up and practically scream, "NO!"

Allie in turn would heave a heavy sigh and plead, "But Dad! Come on, please? I won't get in your way!"

"Why don't you go run around with that boyfriend of yours? Surely that's more exciting than a case," Sherlock would pout back. At that, John could not figure out for the life of him what Sherlock's problem with Mike was. If he had been anyone else, John would have guessed that he was jealous, but this was Sherlock after all.

"He's not my boyfriend!" Allie would cry out, stamping her foot to the ground as her face flushed.

If they didn't break out into a full-blown shouting match after that, Allie could usually win the battle of wits (somehow, she had figured out how to win Sherlock over by batting her eyelashes and complimenting her father excessively with some added in deductions to prove the point that she had gotten into the detective's soft spot. John still didn't know what Allie was talking about, Sherlock seemed to be as Sherlock as ever, but there was clearly something he had missed because the detective would eventually give in after that), though if they were both acting stubborn as usual, Sherlock would lose his temper and shout some sort of insult at his daughter and, because she was a more normal human being than Sherlock and actually had feelings, she would get red-faced and try not to burst into tears as she stormed out the door to meet up with her friends leaving Sherlock wondering what he had said that was so wrong. Either way, all three would be home by dinner time and occasionally Mike and Emily would join the group and they would either eat dinner in 221B with Mrs. Hudson or all go out to eat, everyone getting along as if there was nothing odd about their situation and no argument had occurred between Allie and Sherlock. John noticed the changes in Allie and Sherlock's relationship the most at dinner. After their first case, John had to sit between the two in order for any sort of conversation to occur, but as silence turned to small talk and small talk transformed into wild debates over deduction and mind mapping that only the two could see, Allie began actively sitting next to her father at the dinner table (or if they were in the flat, she would eagerly hop down on the couch, scooting closer to Sherlock as the weeks wore on) and it would take Emily or Mike to pull Allie back into the real world to keep from the bystanders' heads from exploding out of confusion. After that point, Allie would sit and talk with her friends while Sherlock redirected his attention to John the rest of the evening and after dinner, if the case they were working on still had to be solved, Allie would stay up as long as John and Sherlock helping them as best she could, and Sherlock didn't seemed to mind that in the slightest.

However, if there was one thing Sherlock hated more than Allie joining him on a case, it would have to be Michael Jones.

Unlike with Allie, Sherlock didn't seem to protest Mike's nickname (much to Allie's annoyance), but other than his jabs at Allie in the morning right before a case, the detective all but ignored the boy's existence. The most John had ever seen Sherlock interact with Mike would be his occasional cold stares towards the boy when he would arrive to the flat with Emily. That was another thing about Sherlock that John could not understand. The doctor really enjoyed Mike's company. He and Emily were a breath of fresh air for John after spending so long with Sherlock's (and now Allie's) computerized minds. Plus, Mike was an intelligent and kind young gentleman who clearly cared deeply for Allie's well-being. He spoke with John frequently as the young man was in the process of enlisting in the United States' Marines. John was surprised to learn how extensive the enlistment process was for him. He had to check in frequently with the Marines and attended weekly physical training even before Basic Combat Training and he had been working with them since the previous summer. However, Mike then explained to John that his enlistment process was different than others in the different military branches the United States had and he wanted to get in as early as possible to prepare for his career ahead. John had to commend the boy for his dedication. He and Emily both seemed like intelligent young people with their acts together and if they were the only friends Allie had back home, John was more than comfortable with that knowledge. He couldn't figure out why Sherlock hated Mike so much, but John figured it had to do with the same reason he fought Allie every time she wanted to join them on a case. It had to do with Allie, of course, and again, if Sherlock was anyone else, John might have been able to figure out what he was thinking, but the detective had always been a mystery.

The curiosity getting the better of him, John decided to ask Sherlock about his opinion of Allie and her friends one afternoon as the two walked through the streets of London. They had just finished a case and Sherlock suddenly decided that he wanted to walk home. He stomped around with a determined expression, his eyes narrowed and his gaze fixated forward.

"Sherlock?" John began.

"What?" Sherlock spat back.

"Why aren't we taking a cab?" John asked. It was unlike Sherlock to walk anywhere unless he was chasing down a criminal, and in that case he was typically in a mad sprint with a severe case of tunnel vision.

"We're close enough to home," Sherlock's curt reply only baffled the doctor more.

"Yes, but you don't walk anywhere if you can help it," John pointed out.

"Well if Alice can prance around the streets of London like a fairy then by God, so can I!" Sherlock spat with such force, John had to stop and stare at his friend as the man continued to press forward.

"Wait, so _Allie_ is the reason you want to walk everywhere all of the sudden?" John gasped. For God's sakes, did they make some sort of stupid bet again? The last time their daily battle of wits got out of hand and turned into a betting match, Sherlock ended up running naked through an automated car wash complete with waxing service while Allie blew up and tied 400 balloons to her waist and fell into the River Thames.

"Her name is Alice!" Sherlock spat.

John brushed the detective off and continued, "What sort of bet did you two make this time?"

"We didn't bet, John! But that brat thinks she knows the streets of London better than me, well I'll prove her wrong!" Sherlock spat back.

"When did she say that to you?" John asked, his head beginning to ache.

"She didn't, but I despise that giddy look she has every time she comes home after prancing around the city like some…some…" Sherlock rambled, coming to a loss of words.

"Sherlock, she's just going for a morning run," John tried to explain. "She's on her school's track team with Emily and she goes to Tai Kwan Do classes with Mike. It's how those three stay in shape. And besides, Allie's been studying—"

"_Alice._"

"Alright! _Alice_ has been studying the street maps for the past week so she and Emily can decide where to go in the mornings. With a mind like yours, I'm not surprised that she knows London as well as she does by this point," John tried to explain, but for some reason, it looked as if the doctor only made Sherlock angrier.

"_Mike…_" Sherlock hissed. "She takes martial arts with _Mike_?"

"She used to," John said, suddenly feeling uneasy. "They both received their black belts, but Mike doesn't go to classes as frequently anymore because he's training with the Marines. Your daughter explained this to us last night, Sherlock! Where was your head then?"

"I must have blocked her out when she started speaking of that parasite," Sherlock cringed.

John could only roll his eyes, "Sherlock, Mike is a nice young man with his head on straight. He won't hurt Allie—Alice, I can assure you that. And what does it matter to you anyway?"

"I will not have that cretin anywhere near my daughter, John!" Sherlock stated, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Sherlock!" John scolded, unsure how to respond.

"What?" the detective roared back.

It was then when it finally hit John. There were parts of Sherlock capable of sentimentality after all. John couldn't help but smile as he looked up at his friend and answered, "You're worried about Allie, is that it?"

"No!" Sherlock snapped back, his normally alabaster skin turning a light pink. "I could care less about Alice! Sentiment is a waste of brain function!"

"I never said you felt sentiment towards her," John pointed out.

"You implied it!"

"Being worried and being sentimental are two different things," John said. His smile then grew wider as he stepped in front of Sherlock and halted the detective. "If I didn't know any better, I would say that you _loved_ Alice. You genuinely care about your daughter!"

"Well good thing you do know better, John," Sherlock said pointedly before side-stepping and proceeded forward.

"Don't be ridiculous Sherlock, you're feeling sentiment," John replied.

"Am not!"

"Are too."

"Stop acting so childish, John!"

"It's hard not to when I'm dealing with a child!"

"I dare you to say that again!"

"Alright! Fine! It's hard—" by this point they had been screaming and getting in each other's faces. John stopped screaming abruptly and looked up to find that they reached Baker Street and were standing outside 221B. And everyone was staring at them. Including Allie who stood at the opened door with her feet crossed and her hands in her pockets.

"What are you ladies arguing about?" she asked curtly.

Both men turned to her and straightened themselves up before responding. Sherlock adjusted his scarf as he walked up the stairs into the flat. As he passed the girl he stopped, turned his head to her and said in a low voice, "See? I still know London better than you."

Allie narrowed her eyes and gave a confused glare before saying, "I never said you didn't. I've been here two weeks, Dad."

Sherlock let out a disgruntled noise before stomping into the flat. Moments later, Allie and John heard a door slam loudly. At that, Allie turned to John and asked, "What's got his panties in a wad?"

Sighing heavily, John walked up the steps and placed a comforting hand on Allies shoulder and said, "Knowing your father, everything I would suppose."

Allie rolled her eyes at that and groaned, "of course."

Sensing her discomfort at her father's sudden mood swing, John led the girl up the stairs and offered, "I don't suppose it's something that dinner and a good debate with you wouldn't fix."

"You think so?" Allie asked, her normally head strong and calculating mask falling off to reveal a hopeful child in her eyes. John felt his heart warm at the sight of the girl. She may act tough, she may lose her temper, and she may be a reincarnation of Sherlock Holmes, but deep down, Alice Rhodes was just a little girl seeking her father's approval and wanting someone in the world to love her. John had become increasingly aware that Allie was starting to open up to John and look to him for guidance.

"Who knows your father better than me?" John joked, and Allie let out a laugh.

When they walked into the flat, they found Sherlock lying on the couch slapping five nicotine patches on his arm. John rolled his eyes. Even Sherlock shouldn't need five patches.

"Sherlock, don't put that many on at once," John scolded.

"You're my flatmate, John, not my father, brother, or even a significant other," Sherlock protested. At that last one, John's face flushed slightly and rubbed his temples, his headache turning to migraine. God, sometimes Sherlock could just…agh!

"Well I certainly hope I'm not," was all he could say. "But regardless, I am a doctor and you could at least take my advice!"

"You weren't giving advice, John, you were scolding me," Sherlock retorted. "Or am I still just a child to you?"

"Sherlock! You know that's not what I meant!" John shouted. This time, it was Allie's turn to ease the tension. Just to be obnoxious she ran up to the couch and side-stepped as if to perform a high-jump and jumped before crossing her legs mid-air and landing lightly on Sherlock's stomach. The detective folded slightly in recoil as the air rushed out of his lungs.

"ALICE!" Sherlock roared, but Allie kept smiling like an idiot, her big blue eyes at the ready.

"How was your day?" she asked in a bird-like chirp.

"It was fine until you punctured my lung!" Sherlock spat back. Allie frowned, pretending to be upset as she looked around her father's body which had taken up the entirety of the couch.

"You left no room for me," she explained. "And seriously, how was your day?"

"There are other chairs!"

"Well, that chair is John's, Mrs. Hudson likes to keep a few pillows on that seat for her hip and I don't want to mess that up, and it's tedious enough pulling out kitchen chairs for Emily and Mike. Besides, your legs are in my spot," Allie stated, blinking.

"Get. Off," Sherlock ordered.

Allie narrowed her eyes playfully and patted his chest repeatedly, saying, "You didn't answer my question!"

"Sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of my RIBS CRACKING."

"Oh, please, my brother does this to me all the time and it doesn't hurt."

"Your brother is six."

"Well, move your feet and I'll get off!"

Giving in, Sherlock shoved Allie to the floor but adjusted to an upright position. Allie glared at him but otherwise too her seat without argument. John watched their exchange in awe. Had Sherlock just _tolerated_ that?

"Anyway, how was your day?" Allie asked, pulling her feet to her body as she sat in butterfly position. Sherlock pulled out his phone and began looking through it, avoiding eye contact with his daughter.

"It was fine," he mumbled.

"Then how come you and John were fighting?" Allie asked innocently.

"We weren't fighting," he mumbled back.

"Then why do you seem so angry?"

"Alice, will you _please_ stop asking questions?" Sherlock groaned. Allie's shoulders slumped forward as she sighed, her eyes drifting into thought. A mischievous smile then formed along her face and she turned to Sherlock and poked his shoulder.

"I have an idea!" Allie offered.

"Great," Sherlock groaned sarcastically.

"What do you say the three of us go to Angelo's tonight? It's been a few days since we've gone out to eat and John was telling me about the first case you guys solved together. Plus I've heard several people recommend that as a place to eat. It'll be my treat!" Allie said. John held in a sigh as he closed his eyes. Angelo's was a great restaurant, and John was certain the food would be on the house again, however…John didn't really want to be mistaken as Sherlock's boyfriend again. He already got in trouble with his current girlfriend Hollie for that. Thankfully for him, Hollie was more understanding than any of his previous girlfriends, even though Sherlock and Allie both insisted that the relationship wouldn't last anyway.

"Oh?" Sherlock asked, his thumbs tapping away on his phone, "won't your friends want to join us?"

Allie shrugged and said, "they were out sight-seeing today and Mi—I mean, they offered to pick my stepdad and brother up at the airport tonight for me so I could spend more time with you."

"Your stepfather is coming?" Sherlock asked, lifting his eyes up to Allie suddenly. John noticed the detective's form tense slightly.

Allie pursed her lips to a straight line as she nodded, "Yeah. I told you the other day that Josh and Max were going to be checking in on me periodically. They're going to stay in the hotel with Mike and Emily."

"But why would they need to check on you?" Sherlock asked in mild disbelief.

Allie gave a smile and a small laugh as she answered, "because that was the only way their parents would let Mike and Emily spend the summer here with me. And besides, even I can't run around a different country without my family worrying about me and Josh is my stepdad after all."

"But I'm your actual father!" Sherlock protested. "And you don't even consider Josh to be a father figure! You told me so!"

"I did," Allie answered calmly, "but legally, Josh is my caretaker and he still cares about me. Plus he doesn't even know you. He just wants to make sure that you and John will keep me out of trouble, that's all. And besides, Max is a huge Sherlock Holmes fan. He'll go crazy when he meets you!"

"Joy," Sherlock groaned. Allie bit her lip and glanced up at John. Evidently, she hadn't cheered up or distracted Sherlock as much as she wanted to. John took the chance to step in hoping Sherlock at least wasn't still mad at the doctor.

"Well, shall we get going then?" John asked.

"Going where?" Sherlock asked.

"To Angelo's," John answered. "Allie said that she wanted to treat us."

"Oh please, Angelo will give us dinner for free," Sherlock retorted. At that, Allie's face fell.

"Well it's the thought that counts," John explained.

"I don't have time for sentiment."

"Sherlock, just put your coat on," John groaned. Sherlock shot his friend a glare but then rose to his feet, motioning for Allie to put her shoes on.

"No cowboy boots. Please," Sherlock pleaded. Not wanting to get on the detective's nerves for once, Allie ran up to her flat and put on a green blouse and matching floral skirt and white sweater with sandals. She even took out some of her earrings and looked strangely professional when she came down the stairs minutes later. Allie had recently taken the pink out of her hair and replaced it with a dark purple. Sherlock still hated the unnatural coloring, but he seemed to appreciate the fact that Allie at least made an effort to choose a color that was dark enough to blend in with the rest of her hair at night.

"Do I look normal enough for you?" Allie asked. Sherlock looked Allie over with a perplexed expression. The girl seldom attempted to please Sherlock and never did so outside of solving cases. John looked from Sherlock to his daughter and back, trying to figure out what he was missing in the two's exchange. There must have been a reason for Allie's sudden approval seeking outside of her concern over the argument between her father and John. The doctor partially wondered if it had to do with her stepfather's arrival.

Sighing, Sherlock answered, "At least you don't look like a tourist anymore."

Allie smiled brightly and grabbed her coat as she followed Sherlock with a little skip in her step. For Sherlock, that was the highest praise she would get, and she knew it.

* * *

**Alice**

Well, on the bright side Dad had gotten off his pity-potty and was back to his smug brainiac self by the end of dinner. On the downside, however, Josh was a little too eager to pay us a visit. We were sitting in the cab, John and I joking and laughing with Dad sitting quietly, staring out the window, pretending not to hear us but a small grin on his face. His grin fell, however, when we turned the corner onto Baker Street.

"What's wrong?" John asked.

"Who is that man?" Dad asked in a low voice. I reached over him and looked out the window. Standing at the door of 221B wearing his favorite blue sweater vest was none other than Josh. I let out a heavy sigh and braced myself for what was to come. The cab pulled up to the curb and we stepped out, Josh's face lighting up and relaxing upon seeing me.

"Allie! I was trying to call you, why didn't you answer your phone?" he asked. I could feel my father glaring down at me as he realized who the new face was.

"Sorry, I left it in my room to charge," I explained. "Sorry, Josh, I didn't realize you were going to come over right away."

"Of course I was! Where have you been?" Josh began to yell at me, parental as ever. I held in a groan. Please, Dad, don't say something smart. Please don't say something smart.

"Certainly a child can go out to dinner if you allowed her to travel to a foreign country by herself," Dad stated in a cold voice. I closed my eyes and held my breath. He just _had_ to say something smart.

Josh narrowed his eyes slightly at Dad and asked, "I'm sorry, but who are you? And I think it's okay to ask where my daughter has been when I'm trying to reach her."

"Your stepdaughter."

"What?"

"You said she was your daughter when really she is your stepdaughter," Dad explained. "You don't see her as your own at all. You care about her yes, judging from your smile line, but in truth, she is merely your dead wife's illegitimate child to you and really there's no reason for you to—"

"Dad!" I growled. "Shut your mouth."

Josh looked from me to Dad and back with a confused gaze. Thankfully, knowing that my stepfather wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, I could tell he hadn't caught everything my father had said. I just hoped the detective's ranting wouldn't continue.

"You must be Allie's father," Josh said, stepping forward hesitantly. He then held out his hand and introduced, "I'm Josh Bloomington. And you're right, I'm her stepfather."

Dad took Josh's hand in his, but then said, "Alice."

"What?"

"Her name is Alice," Dad stated, but John elbowed him hard.

"Just introduce yourself," John scolded in a hushed voice.

Dad pursed his lips and forced a smile saying, "Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah," Josh said, still uncertain of my father. He glanced at me nervously and I shrugged. "Nice to meet you."

"And I'm Dr. John Watson," John interjected, shaking hands with Josh. "I'm colleagues with Sherlock here. And I must say, you've raised a lovely girl, she's been a pleasure the past couple of weeks."

"You say pleasure," Dad groaned and received a sharp glare from both John and me in return. He shut his mouth after that.

"Thank you," Josh said. "But I can't take all of the credit. Her mother was very involved in Allie's life, and from what I've read about in your blog, she really takes after her father."

At that, I glared at Josh. Was that in a good way or a bad way? By the goofy smile on my stepdad's face, I was guessing he meant I mainly took the good qualities from Sherlock Holmes (but not without several of his…trademark ones, I'm sure), at least I hoped so. We stood outside the flat and chatted for a bit when finally realization dawned on me and forced me to ask, "Where's Max?"

"He's with Mike and Emily," Josh explained. "He wanted to come see you but he was wiped out from the flight. I told him that he could come by in the morning if that was alright with you."

Dad began to open his mouth and say, "I don't need another brat running around." When John and I both stepped in front of him and said enthusiastically, "That would be great!" and shortly after that, we bid our goodbyes and Josh walked across the street to the hotel. When we got back to the flat I groaned loudly and collapsed face-first onto the couch.

"Could you please be a little polite while Josh is here?" I asked, my voice muffled by the pillow, but Dad understood me loud and clear.

"And why would I do that?" Dad snapped back.

I lifted my face off the pillow so he could hear the anger in my voice as I spat, "because if you keep acting like a moron I'll be drug back home by the hair!"

"Well, then I wouldn't have to see you again," Dad said without thinking. He then paused and looked up to find me glaring at him, my heart sinking slightly. He then waved his hand and said, "No, no, no, no. Don't take it like that."

"Then how the hell am I supposed to take it?" I growled. Dad didn't answer but instead grabbed the newspaper from the coffee table and took the liberty to sit down _on my back_ and put his feet on the table as he leaned back to read.

"DAAAD!" I yelped as he crushed me with his weight. "_Get off!_"

"Like you did this morning?" Dad asked with a monotonous voice. In the kitchen, I could hear John break out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. I tried to squirm into a more comfortable position that allowed me to breathe, but Dad merely pressed his ass to my back with extra force to keep me stationary.

"Oh come on!" I croaked. "Seriously, I can't breathe!"

"Good."

"At least I weigh less than you do!"

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"Then how much do you weigh?"

"110 lbs!"

"That means nothing to me, Alice. How much do you weigh in _kilograms_?"

"I don't know!"

I could just picture Dad roll his eyes as he gave the newspaper a shake to straighten the pages out and said, "So stupid…it must be nice living in such a simple town with simple-minded people."

"I give up…but seriously, look at me compared to you. For one, you're taller. Two, you're a man. Three, you may be a stick but your ass has a whole lot of muscle to it and I can feel your pelvis digging into my kidneys!"

"What a shame…"

"DAD!"

"Well, I supposed you suffered enough," Dad said, giving up. "Lift your legs so I can sit."

I took in a deep breath and gasped for air as he stood and released me from captivity. I did as he asked and bent my knees so my shins lifted off the couch. Dad then sat down and I immediately allowed my feet to fall onto his lap. Dad jumped and stared down at them in mild disgust and protested, "I didn't say you could put them on me!"

"Rub my feet," I demanded, my head buried into the pillow again.

"Just because I'm your father does not mean I'm your slave!" Dad ranted.

"Like Mrs. Hudson isn't our housekeeper?" I retorted.

"Exactly," Dad answered, not getting my sarcasm. I rolled my eyes and slid off the couch. "I'm going to go to bed."

Dad shot his head up in confusion, "What did I do wrong?"

I raised an eyebrow, "Nothing? I'm tired."

"No, don't you give me that face!" Dad rose to his feet, wagging his finger at me. "You always say something smart or distant and leave the room whenever I say something you don't like. What did I say?"

"Dad, chill, I'm tired. It's late. I'm going to bed," I said, trying to keep from laughing.

"Don't tell me to chill! I am chill!" Dad roared, spinning in circles and mimicking my accent. At that point, John came out of the kitchen with a few cups of tea and looked from him to me in confusion.

"What are you arguing about now?" he asked.

"Nothing," I answered as Dad roared, "Everything!"

When that only confused John more, I sighed heavily and elaborated, "He thinks I'm mad at him because I'm going to bed."

"No! I said something! You did that thing with your tone and your eye rolling! And you're leaving the room which means you're mad!" Dad protested.

"Well, I'm going to be mad if you don't shut up!" I snapped back, causing Dad to clamp his jaw shut and shove his hands in his pockets. I sighed heavily and said, "I'm not mad at you, Dad. Annoyed, yes, but I'm not that hard to annoy and it's not hard for you to annoy people, so I don't know why you're getting worked up about this."

John bit his lip and tried to keep from smiling but said, "You go on upstairs Allie, I'll have a little talk with your father."

"Her name is Alice!" Dad roared as I started back up the stairs. I shook my head and made it to my room. I slammed the door as loud as I could and fell onto my bed. In truth, I didn't really want to sleep that night. Since Mike and Emily came to see me, I had been having the strangest nightmares and I knew that as soon as I closed my eyes I would either see my mom's emaciated figure withered away in her hospital bed with ashen skin or find myself in the ICU holding Max to my chest with that stupid red light on the ceiling. That red light was like a death-sentence, it was intended to be a signal to the doctors if a patient started having problems or suddenly destabilized but to the family sitting in the waiting room for days on end, it only meant that a doctor was minutes away from telling one of us the worst of news.

I let my head sink into the pillow and blinked a few times when my phone suddenly went off. I picked it up from my dresser and looked at it.

_New text message from: Michael Jones_

_You were right, Josh's reaction when he walked through the door was exactly what you said it was! Haha, how are you? :)_

I smiled to myself and typed my reply:

_LOL. I'm fine. Not sure I really want to go to bed though._

Moments later, my phone buzzed again.

_Why not?_

_Reasons_

I knew that response would piss him off slightly, but I wasn't the type to let people know what my every thought was on a regular basis. I groaned inwardly to myself. That was the whole reason why I broke up with Mike when Mom got sick. I still felt horrible about the whole ordeal. I broke his heart, but I didn't want him worrying about my problems constantly and feeling like he had to be there with me. I didn't want him to see the state that red light reduced me to.

Sure enough, my phone buzzed with his aggravated reply.

_Allie…come on. Just tell me what's wrong._

_I don't want to bother you, Mike, I'm sorry._

_Don't you trust me?_

I held my breath as I read that. What? Why was he asking me that?

_Of course I trust you! We're best friends, remember?_

_I wonder about that…_

_Excuse me? We aren't friends anymore?_

_NO! No, that's not what I meant! OMG, Allie. It's just…you have trouble trusting anyone. That's what I meant. It doesn't matter how close you are to someone, you never let them into your personal life and I can never figure out what's going on with you. There is no way that you can go through all you have and be that happy all the time._

I don't know why, but I felt an insurmountable need to chuck my phone at the wall after that text. I gripped it tightly in my hand, my arm shaking to keep from doing so. I took a few deep breaths and typed my reply.

_You're right, I don't like letting people in but it's not because I don't trust people. Or maybe it is, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm a lot like my father, Michael. I don't see a need to be sentimental all the time like other people. It's a waste of time to let them worry about me._

_If you say so…_

I rolled my eyes at that last text and made to put my phone away when it buzzed again. I opened the message and gasped to see Mike's last message.

_Alice, I just want you to know that no matter what happens, I'll still love you. You can tell me anything and it won't change my opinion of you, if anything, it would just make me love you more. I know this sounds cheesy but I want you to know that I'm here for you. _

_I know,_ I texted, biting my lip, _that means a lot to me. It's just hard for me to open up, it's always been. But thank you. And I still love you too. 3_

_Goodnight, Alice Rhodes. 3_

After that I set my phone down and gathered the courage to fall into a light slumber.

* * *

**Sherlock**

"I think you need to be a little more relaxed around Alice," John finally said after pacing around the flat for five minutes.

"I am relaxed," Sherlock stated, not knowing where his friend was going with it.

"No you're not," John retorted. "You're competitive, stubborn, childish, and you take just about everything she says the wrong way."

"So?" Sherlock asked. "And she should probably watch what she says if that's the case."

John glared at the detective for a long while before he finally said, "Has it ever occurred to you that she is _your daughter_?"

"Well that's an obvious fact."

"Sherlock, that's not-! Agh," John groaned. He then took in a deep breath and tried again. "She is just like you, Sherlock. She speaks her mind and she sees _everything_. But she's also looking for your approval and following you as an example."

"What sort of idiot would do that?" Sherlock then asked. He knew that he wasn't someone that most people should take after. Most people were idiots, anyway, and following Sherlock's way of life would only cause them more trouble. The detective knew that much at least.

"A girl who is probably the only person in the world that sees it the same way you do," John explained. "She lost her mum, she has more than likely had a childhood similar to yours, and she is looking to you for help."

"Wh-How could I help her? Why would she need my help?" Sherlock looked up from his paper at that. Alice was an independent girl. She flew to England to find him for God's sakes. She was doing fine as far as he could tell.

"I don't know," John explained. "But unlike you, she feels sentiment. She may hide it, but she's holding a lot of things back and she needs someone who understands her right now."

"Holding things back," Sherlock repeated, growing skeptical of John. He then shot the doctor a glare and rose to his feet, asking, "And how on earth could you _possibly_ know that she is keeping this 'sentiment' from us?"

"Because I was the same way, Sherlock," John stated in a low voice. The doctor then looked away, blinking ferverously to hide the fact that he started tearing up. "You…when I came back from Afghanistan, I was lost. I didn't know where to go, I didn't know my purpose, and I was alone in the world. And then I met you and suddenly, I was happy again. And when you jumped off that building. When you tried to convince me you were a fake and just left me abruptly for a year and a half-!" John stopped himself and covered his mouth. Sherlock's mouth hung open slightly. He had never seen this side of John. Sure, when Sherlock came back after several months of hiding, John was beyond angry at the detective. He refused to make eye contact for a week. But…Sherlock wasn't sure he had ever seen John get emotional like this. The doctor took several deep breaths before turning to look Sherlock in the eye and ask, "Do you know what it's like to lose someone who is close to you? Do you know what it's like to feel so frightened by the world because the person you're closest to, the one person in the world who you can trust your life with is gone and may never come back? I was lucky, Sherlock, because you somehow managed to fake your death and I understand why you did it now, but Allie is not that lucky. I don't know what the situation was or where she was when her mum died, but Allie has lost someone she trusted and now she is looking to you for help because you are her father. At least let her know that you care."

John turned to leave as Sherlock fought to say, "But I don't know how to care."

The doctor then turned back to face the detective with a cold stare, saying, "You and I both know that's a lie. You may not understand it, but if you didn't care you wouldn't have jumped off that building. You would've let us die."

With that, the doctor went to his room and retired for the night. Sherlock sighed heavily and fell back on to the couch. Why were things getting so complicated? Six weeks ago, Sherlock was running around the streets of London getting his daily dose of bizarre cases. And now, now he was fighting bizarre emotions that not only got in the way of Sherlock's cognitive thinking, but he struggled to understand exactly what they were. And those dreams he kept having…Sherlock had figured out that he was subconsciously dreaming of Alice's childhood but why did he even care? He didn't! And yet whenever he saw the teenager bouncing down the stairs in the morning, all he could see was an infant's face. And after the first case she tagged along for with Robert Carraway, every time Alice asked to join him, Sherlock couldn't help but imagine the sight of a terrified girl being held at gunpoint by a Human Trafficker. The detective couldn't figure it out, and he had a horrible feeling that this would be one case Sherlock Holmes would never solve.

His thoughts traveled to John. The doctor was more of a father to Alice than Sherlock was, and part of the detective felt comforted by that thought. What was even stranger is the source of comfort was not because Sherlock was given a way to get out of looking after Alice. Not in the slightest. And that expression John gave him…Sherlock knew he would be hurting John by disappearing, that's why he came back after all, but the detective had never known the turmoil he put his friend through, he still wasn't sure he really knew. What made Sherlock feel even worse were his growing affections towards the doctor. John Watson was an attractive man by any standard, but there was something about him that made Sherlock wish John's habits of dressing nicely for a date would be turned to impress Sherlock alone. And the way he looked after Alice…he really did make a better father figure to her than Sherlock did but when the detective watched his daughter and his friend interact with each other, sometimes Sherlock wished…oh bloody hell, he didn't even know!

Sherlock stood and made his way to his room, attempting to push all his thoughts aside. Sentimentality really was a waste of brain function. There was no point in him thinking about it further.

But still, John's words rang out in his ears. Without giving a second thought, Sherlock picked up his phone to send a text.

* * *

**Alice**

I had just started to doze when the sound of my phone vibrating against my desk caused me to jump as I took in a sharp breath and my eyes fluttered open. The light from my phone's screen was blinding in the darkness.

"God damn…" I grumbled, reaching over to see who had texted. I sighed heavily at the sight of it.

_New text message from: Josh Bloomington_

_How is everything? I thought your father was…interesting. Dr. Watson seems nice though._

Rolling my eyes I replied, _I was sleeping…and yeah, you're right about that. Can we talk more in the morning? I'm beat._

_Sure! We'll be over when you and Emily get back from your run. Goodnight._

_Night._

I set my phone down, only to have it vibrate again. I let out a sigh, but furrowed my brow when my phone didn't recognize the number. I didn't even recognize the area code. Who the hell…?

Curiosity getting the better of me, I opened the message to see who was texting me so late at night. My eyes widened when I read the message, and though I had a feeling I knew who sent it, I still couldn't believe my eyes.

_Goodnight, Alice in Wonderland -SH_


	5. Message from Hell

RIP, Fernando the HP...you were a good (not so) little laptop...I still have to get some files from your hard drive, you little shit.

Well, I finally got a new computer! Meet Fergus the Macbook! (and yes, I do name my technology, don't judge...you're reading an illegitimate parentlock fic at this very moment) So hopefully more chapters of EVERYTHING will be updated soon. So this chapter turned out to be fluffier than anticipated, but I think I made up for it with character development and bitchin' cliffhangers :D (my gawd, I'm so evil!) Also...after talking to my friend about Johnlock's decided son Hamish, I had this vision of Hamish having a twin sister named Robin and the two being adopted or born into the family (however the hell that happens) and Allie deciding to call them Ham and Robbie...and then Sherlock flipping out every time. I can just see it happening, and I just might write a oneshot about it someday if this fic even turns out to be worth reading...oh man...

well, enough of my ramblings,

ENJOI

* * *

**Alice**

Well…that text kept me up the rest of the night. I might have dozed on and off, but the image in my mind of my phone lighting up with my _father_ downstairs actually typing that message would cause my eyes to open wide, wondering whether or not that was a dream. On instinct, I would reach over and grab my phone to check it and sure enough, that text was still there.

_Goodnight, Alice in Wonderland –SH_

First off, where in hell did he get my phone number? I sighed at that. Most likely John, of course. The second case I went on with Dad and John, John made me exchange phone numbers with him on the off chance I got separated or we needed to split up. I bet any money when Dad got his pride out of the way later on, he asked John for it. But more importantly…Alice in Wonderland? What kind of cheesy gag was that?

But the more I thought, the more my emotions swayed from confused to sheer agony. My mom read _Through the Looking Glass _to me when I was little. I had tried to push my memory of her out of my mind to avoid unnecessary emotions, but now the pain in my chest was unbearable and I couldn't ignore the image of Mom smiling over me in my bed whispering, "Goodnight Alice. Sweet dreams in Wonderland," every single night. I squinted my eyes shut and allowed tears to run down my temples and into my hair and pillow.

I was wide awake when my alarm went off. I groaned, glaring at it. I didn't really want to get up, but I knew Emily would be over within the hour. I rolled out of bed, but my feet missed the floor and I landed on my stomach, pulling a few miscellaneous objects off my dresser during the fall. And just to be rude, each and every one of those objects took the opportunity to smack me in the head upon impact. I sat up and threw my work-out pants and shirt on then pulled my jacket over my shoulders before pulling my hair back. It was finally getting long enough to pull back into a loose ponytail, though I knew it would be in my face in ten minutes.

I slid quietly down the stairs and tip-toed into the living room. The lights were out so I expected Dad and John to still be asleep, so when I heard Dad's voice speaking to me as I stepped into the kitchen, I let out a scream and dropped my bowl of cereal.

"Couldn't sleep either?" he had asked. As I screamed, milk spilled all over my shoes and I began unleashing a string of loud curse words when Dad shushed me saying, "John and Mrs. Hudson are still asleep. I wouldn't wake them."

"Ugh, sorry," I groaned. "Then why are you awake? You're never up this early."

"Neither are you," Dad pointed out. "You usually aren't up for another couple of hours."

"What?" I gasped. I looked at the clock sitting over the mantel. Sure enough, it read 3:30 am. My jaw dropped and my shoulders slumped slightly. I…I set my alarm wrong… "You've got to be kidding me."

"Difficulty sleeping then," Dad concluded without looking up from the book in his hand. I shifted back and forth from my toes to my heels, scanning the darkened kitchen for a towel. I then glanced over at Dad who avoided my gaze. His face was pale and he had dark rings around his eyes, and yet they were blue and vibrant as ever with no intention of losing focus.

"It looks like you can't sleep either," I pointed out as I bent over to clean up the mess at my feet. Dad's eye twitched slightly at my observation, so I lowered my head and didn't expect him to say much else.

"Brain function is all that really matters," he said suddenly. "Everything else is transport."

I then gave him a skeptical glare and shook my head, "yeah, and sleep promotes long-term memory. Even you need it once in a while."

"Which I get plenty of," Dad said.

"But not last night," I replied. "You were working on a case last night and kicked John and me out at 1. My room is right above yours and I never heard you walk in there last night."

"Everything else is transport," Dad repeated methodically, either engrossed in the book or trying to get me off the subject. I sighed heavily, the one question I didn't want to ask falling onto the tip of my tongue. My heart pounding, my brain screaming to hold it in, the words just spilled out of my lips.

"Alice in Wonderland?" I asked suddenly. Dad looked up with narrowed and skeptical eyes as if he didn't know what I was saying.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked. In the darkness I could see his pale complexion turn a mild green.

"This is your number, isn't it?" I asked. I pulled my phone out and opened the text, walking it over to him so he could see. Dad took the phone in my hand and examined the message for a moment before handing it back to me.

"Yes." Was all he said.

"So…why Alice in Wonderland?" I asked again. Dad opened his mouth as if an explanation hung off his lips, yet he shut it abruptly with more control over his words than I could ever imagine possessing.

"That answer is for another time, Alice," Dad said. I nodded, slightly disappointed. Why was he so secretive with me? It seemed like he never wanted me around…but…he was my Dad, wasn't he? What did he even think of me, anyway? Sensing my flustered thoughts, he then turned back to me and said, "Let's just say, it is for the same reason you should stop referring to yourself by such a ludicrous nickname."

"Okay…" I mumbled, still not sure of his reply. Dad grimaced and exhaled heavily. I could tell he was trying to explain his overly complicated thought process, I really could, but that poor man just didn't know how to be around people by any stretch of the imagination.

"Alice," Dad began, licking his lips. "I—I don't exactly know how to explain this to you…for starters, you don't need to refer to texts I send you ever again. I detest repeating myself. However…I grew up with Lewis Carroll's literature and…I've always been fond of the name Alice…and what Carroll's character stood for…it suits you well. Much better than Allie does in my opinion."

If Dad couldn't be full of more surprises…before I knew what I was doing, I was breaking out into a small fit of laughter. Dad's cheeks flushed in surprise and he averted eye contact asking, "W-What do you find so amusing?"

"Oh," I shook my head, both unable to smile and ignore the pang in my chest as I said, "It's just that sounds like something my mom would say."

"What do you mean?" Dad asked.

"When I was little," I began, uncertain I was ready to even think of my mom yet, "she used to read _Through the Looking Glass _and _Alice in Wonderland_ to me every night before bed. She said that when I was born, she couldn't help but think of those stories."

"I see," Dad mumbled, looking back down at his book. "Well, as I said before, the name suits you quite well. Your mother was right in naming you."

"Well…thank you…" I muttered. The two of us stood in an awkward silence, not knowing what to say to the other. Dad glanced back and forth from me to his book before he managed a small smile and gestured for me to come over.

"Sit down, I want you to help me with something," Dad said in a quiet voice. Confused, I did as I was told. Sitting on the couch, I crossed my legs and turned my body to face my father as he handed me a blanket. "It gets cold down here at night," he explained.

"So what do you need my help with?" I asked, rocking back and forth. To my amazement, Dad actually scooted himself towards me and placed his arm around my shoulder. Albeit rather awkwardly, but the fact that he had pulled me close was amazing in itself.

"I…well, I'm never one to believe that sentiment is a useful trait," Dad explained, spitting out a small laugh. He then shook his head, embarrassed at himself as he continued, "yet for some reason, not even I can exempt myself from human emotion."

"Well, you are human," I joked. Dad laughed at that.

"It would seem so," he chuckled, still frustrated over his human qualms. "But I am at the disadvantage because I did not know I was capable of such feelings. I don't know what these are nor do I know how to show them. So…I'm going to try this as my way of reminding you that I do care about your well-being Alice."

I nodded my head, not entirely sure where he was going with this. "Okay," I said, "go ahead. I know that you do."

"Really now? I could have sworn that I've been putting you off this whole time," Dad observed. Not in a joking manner, not sarcastically, just in a Sherlock Holmes way of observing things. I rolled my eyes at him and giggled quietly. As if he were still uncomfortable, Dad took in a deep breath, flipped the pages of the book to the front cover, and said, "One thing was certain that the _white_ kitten had nothing to do with it:-it was entirely the black kitten's fault."

I jumped and glanced up at Dad with wide eyes. He paused and glanced back down at me with a straight face, observing my pale complexion and my jaw that was now on the floor. In a daze, I continued, "For the white kitten had been having its face washed by the old cat for the past hour."

"Quarter of an hour, actually," Dad corrected, reading through the pages of the book. He then paused and glanced back at me, asking, "Too much?"

"No! No! This is…this is great," I exhaled in mild disbelief. "I haven't even picked up that book since my mom…well, I feel like a kid again."

"Is that a good thing?" my father asked quickly. I nodded my head, managing a smile.

"It's a very good thing," I stuttered.

Dad nodded his head and turned back to the book, continuing, "'For the white kitten had been having its face washed by the old cat for the last quarter of an hour (and bearing it well considering); so you see that it couldn't have had any hand in the mischief.' That's actually a very good deduction. Whatever, continuing, 'The way Dinah washed her children's faces was this: first she held the poor thing down by its ear with one paw, and then with the other paw she rubbed its face all over, the wrong way, beginning at the nose: and just now, as I said, she was hard at work on the white kitten, which was lying quite still and trying to purr-no doubt feeling that it was all meant for its good…'"

And so Dad and I sat, his arm wrapped awkwardly around my shoulders, reading to me in his low and methodic tenor voice. I wrapped the blanket he had handed to me around myself and leaned against his chest, reading the words on pages to the beat of his rhythmic storytelling.

I hadn't realized I had fallen asleep until the sound of John's door opening followed by a loud yawn and the creaking of the floor underneath his footsteps sounded like loud explosions in my ears and my eyes fluttered open. Dad hadn't noticed me stir, but turned and gave the doctor a pointed stare. "You could be a little louder, John."

"Sorry," John muttered. I lowered my eyes, but observed John's movements. He looked around in confusion for a moment and then asked, "Did Allie leave already?"

"_Alice,_" Dad corrected in a sharp tone. John rolled his eyes, but as he turned to face Dad, he jumped, his jaw falling to the floor.

"Allie!" he yelped in shock. If I was still asleep, I would have woken up at that. Trying to fake slumber, I jumped and took in a sharp breath, my eyes fluttering slightly, but I otherwise kept quiet.

Dad leaned forward, holding me tightly as he made a loud shushing noise and whispered, "_Alice!_"

"Fine, whatever, but what is she doing? Actually, what are you doing?" John asked in sheer disbelief.

"Reading," Dad answered curtly. He then paused for a moment in thought and decided to clarify, "Well, I was reading and Alice fell asleep."

"Well, yes I can see that, but _how _did Allie—Alice even let you within ten feet of her?" John then asked incredulously. I held in a snort of laughter at that and fought to keep still. Trying to hide the fact that my shoulders trembled from laughter (and also partly to get on his nerves) I slid down Dad's chest and into his lap. Dad, in turn, let out a stifled yelped and lifted his arms up, jumping at the sensation of my head in his lap.

"Oh bloody-!" Dad hissed in a soft voice. I fought to maintain a relaxed expression as I tried to get comfortable in his lap. To my surprise, I didn't really feel awkward this close to my dad. In fact…I was pretty content. Dad then sighed heavily and I felt a hand rest on the side of my head, ruffling my hair gently. "I don't know what's happening, John…"

I closed my eyes but heard John chuckle softly. "It's simple, really," the doctor explained. "Your daughter loves you. And you love her. These feelings are natural."

"John, I don't think you understand—" Dad began, but his voice broke off suddenly. His body stiffened and he didn't say a word.

"Sherlock?" John's pitch raised slightly in concern and part of me wanted to 'wake up' suddenly to devoid any possible tension that could stir, but I fought the urge and for the first time since I had been here, Dad allowed it to melt away on his own.

"It's nothing," he mumbled. "I don't understand sentiment. I don't understand it at all."

"I don't think anyone does," John reassured. He walked forward and I then felt a slight bounce on the couch as he took a seat next to my father. He placed a comforting hand on Dad's shoulder and said, "sentiment is just something we feel, regardless if we understand it or not. It's only human nature."

"But I'm not like you, John, I have to understand it!" Dad barked back, almost sounding hurt. "John…I don't know how to express feelings. I will never know. How am I supposed to live my life with sentimentality if I can't even explain it to myself or you or Allie?"

My eyes shot open at that.

Allie? Did that just come out of his mouth?

"Sherlock, I think you're over thinking this," John tried. He then paused, and I hoped he was rethinking his approach towards my father. Some how, I had a horrible feeling that if they both carried on in that same tone they would only go in circles and piss each other off. To my relief, he was and then spoke, "If you ask me, I'd say you did a bang up job explaining it to Allie."

Sherlock lifted his hand off my head, his body tense, "I-I read her a book."

"Well, that book must've meant a lot to her if she is that comfortable around you so suddenly. Look, Sherlock, we know you're trying to be a father to her. I can see that, and I think she can too. And really, the fact that you're willing to even be there for her I think is all she really needs," John said in a soft voice. I gazed at the floor, my heart heavy. John wasn't quite correct in his statement. It wasn't all I needed, I realized in that moment that it was so much more than I needed.

Both men were silent for a moment and before either one of them could say a word, the doorbell rang, causing all of us to jump.

"That must be Emily," John said, standing. "I'll get the door."

"Right," Dad said. He then let out a heavy sigh and shook me lightly. "Alice, wake up."

I groaned as he shook me. I may have been awake, but I did not want to get out of his lap. Boney as it may be, it was comfy! "No," I groaned, pulling the blanket up to my nose and subconsciously burying my face into his thigh.

"Alice," Dad said in a slightly louder voice. He gave me a harder shake and ordered, "Get up!"

I squinted my eyes and straightened my legs to stretch, my back arching slightly as my hands lifted above my head, one grazing the floor and the other accidentally hitting Dad against his chin. "I'm awake!" I moaned, rolling onto the floor. I sat up on my knees and shook myself like a wet dog for a brief moment before looking up to Dad who was giving me a confused stare. "What?" I asked.

"Must you always roll off the couch like that?" he asked. I looked down at the floor where I now sat and shrugged.

"Habit, I guess," I said, standing to my feet. At around that time, Emily came bounding up the stairs, adorable as ever with her perfect blonde curls tied back into a ponytail.

"You ready?" she asked me. I couldn't help but grin as I hopped over the table and went into the kitchen to grab an apple. So much for the cereal I was looking forward to.

"Am I ever!" I cheered. I began to follow Emily back out of the apartment for our run before I stopped in my tracks and turned back to Dad. He was still sitting on the couch with the book in hand, but his normally vibrant eyes looked kind of…sad? Was that it? Without thinking, I walked back over to my father and bent over to wrap my arms around his neck in a slightly awkward hug.

"I'll be back. Love you," I said almost entirely out of habit.

"What are you doing?" Dad asked, his body stiff as his hands fell to his sides. I laughed a little as I stood back up, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket.

"You could say 'I love you' back," I suggested. "Or you could've hugged me."

"Uh," Dad stammered, narrowing his eyes. He had no idea what I was getting at. I grinned and shook my head.

"We'll work on it," I joked, but Dad still didn't get it. Sighing, I redirected my approach and said, "Thank you. For this morning, I mean. It meant a lot."

"Oh!" Dad's jaw dropped, glancing at the book still in hand. "Of course. You're welcome?"

Dad glanced at John wondering if he gave the right response and the doctor nodded in approval leaving my father's shoulders to relax slightly. I nodded and turned back to leave when Dad called out, "Alice?"

"Yeah?" I asked.

"I think Lestrade will be coming later this morning. There is a journalist who went missing last week and the police have no leads so far. If he asks for my help…would you do me the honor of joining me today?" he asked with a hesitant voice.

It took everything I had to keep from squealing and jumping up and down like a little kid. "Of course!" I said excitedly. "But I promised Max that I could come by and visit him today so I'll do that after my run and be back as soon as I can."

"Oh, no rush, Lestrade most likely won't come until lunch when he gets hungry and exhausted from Donavan and Anderson's miserable attempts at performing their duties correctly," Dad explained, his face contorting to disgust at the sound of the two inspectors' names. I nodded my head and then turned back to Emily as we bounded down the stairs and out the door, ready to start the day. As I ran out the door I heard Dad call out, "You can only come if you don't do anything stupid!"

* * *

**Mike**

He found Allie and Emily in the park, both as sweaty as ever. They may not have been in the desert, but those two knew how to work up a sweat no matter where they spent their summer.

As always, his heart stopped in his chest when Allie looked up to greet him. Her cheeks were flushed and her dark hair was slick with chunks matted to the sides of her head, but when that girl looked up at him, her blue eyes sparkling and her smile directed towards only him, she couldn't look any more beautiful.

"You two look like you had fun," Mike said, forcing his blush down. Emily shot her brother a glare but Allie couldn't restrain her smile. Mike could feel his face heating up as he watched the girl bounce around, running up to him and trying to wrestle him to the ground. She was hyped to see him as always, but he couldn't help but notice the skip in her step this particular morning. Mike managed to wrestle Allie into a half-nelson, leaving the girl to kick and squeal, pretending she couldn't get out of his vice.

"Mike!" she giggled wildly as the boy spun her around, laughing uncontrollably. He then released Allie's head and neck but bent down to grab her by the waste as he lifted her off the ground and spun her swiftly. "If my dad saw you!"

"What?" Mike asked suddenly. He set her down gently and took a step away from Allie. Completely oblivious to his confusion, Allie straightened herself out, wriggling his lower back and hips as if she were a dog wagging her tail.

"Huh?" Allie asked with a stupid smile on her face.

"Well, Josh knows me," Mike joked. Allie only broke out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

"Well, yeah, Josh adores you! But if my dad saw you even touching me, he would flip a shit!" Allie giggled. Mike struggled to maintain his smile, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Wait…she wasn't referring to Sherlock, was she?

"Yeah, Allie, you were passed out on the couch this morning," Emily pointed out. "I can't believe Sherlock let you actually hug him!"

Allie shrugged, "Well, yeah, he is my Dad. Takes a while for us to get any traction but, I mean…I'm a Holmes at heart I guess! Well, if Dad and Mycroft are anything to go off of."

"So…you and your father are getting along well then?" Mike asked suspiciously. Wasn't she feeling lonely the night before?

"Oh yeah!" Allie chirped. "I will admit, I was surprised this morning, but I went downstairs unable to sleep and he was reading a book and…we just kind of talked and worked things out."

"You," Emily started.

"And your dad," Mike continued.

"_Talked_ it out?" the siblings then finished together. Allie raised an eyebrow in confusion and shrugged.

"Well…yeah," she said, "It wasn't necessarily talking by your definition."

By this point, both Mike and Emily had cornered Allie to a tree and got in her face, demanding to know how in the hell the two went from hating each other to Allie _hugging _her father. "What exactly would your definition of talking things out be?"

"We read _Through the Looking Glass_ and I pretended to fall asleep and eavesdropped on a conversation between Dad and John about me," Allie said with such a quick and clipped tone, Mike started to wonder if she was spending too much time with her sociopathic detective father. Somehow, in her mind, that made perfect sense.

"But you didn't actually say anything to your father," Emily pointed out. Allie shook her head.

"Didn't really need to. Dad doesn't like to talk and he doesn't like to listen so it just makes more sense to hear what he says to John," Allie explained. Now Mike was even more confused.

"You're crazy," was all he could say as he broke out into laughter. Allie beamed back at Mike and the boy couldn't help himself as he grabbed either side of her head and pulled her forehead to his lips. Mike then lifted his gaze to his sister who merely smiled and motioned for him to continue as she walked away to leave them space. It was no secret that his feelings for Allie never changed, even when she broke up with him. Though it broke his heart, he knew hers was even more shattered and she left because she was afraid of showing her feelings. She always had been. Mike still wasn't sure just how miserable Allie was, he wasn't sure she even knew. She left for London so soon after her mother died, she hardly gave herself time to mourn. Having dated her for three years, Michael knew that her goal was to never feel the loss of her mom, but with the influence she was on Allie and the impact she had on her life, Mike almost dreaded the day when she finally came to terms with her feelings. She needed to confront them, but she would choose to ignore them until they became unbearable and the consequences of her bottled up emotions exploding out of her little body would be catastrophic.

"So you sure you're okay?" Mike found the courage to ask. Allie looked up at him with her vibrant blue eyes and smiled.

"Of course," she answered. Mike sighed heavily and pulled the girl into a hug. She stiffened at first, then lifted her hands to his chest and frowned. "But I broke up with you…"

"Doesn't mean you stopped loving me," Mike said in a soft voice. "And it certainly doesn't mean that I've stopped loving you."

"You're too good to me," Allie mumbled, her arms slowly wrapping around him. Mike's hand drifted up to her head and he ran his fingers through her feathery hair. He hadn't realized how much he missed holding her in his arms.

"I'm not good enough," was all he could think to say. Allie then lifted her hand to his cheek and looked at him with more longing in her gaze than he had ever seen in before.

"I should have never pushed you away," she whispered, her eyes glistening. "And I am so sorry."

"Don't be," Mike said gently. He brushed the bangs out of her face, as he did so, his chest swelled with a warmth he had been missing for months. This was the closest and most open Allie had allowed herself to be with Mike. He had a feeling this was the most she had shown anyone beside her mom. Before he knew what was happening, Michael Jones found himself leaning towards Allie's lips, allowing them to graze against each other gently.

"Michael," she moaned. She started to pull away, but for the first time in a long time, her muscles relaxed and she melted in his arms, her weight falling into his chest. "I never stopped loving you."

"I know," Mike whispered. "That's why I want to kiss you."

"Then do it already," Allie teased, holding her head back just enough that Mike couldn't plant his lips on hers right then and there. Mike looked up long enough to see a mischievous smirk on her fact. Mike pulled her even closer to him as he leaned forward as his lips danced along her mouth. It wasn't long, nor was it intimate by normal standards, but it was the most passionate kiss Mike had ever shared with Allie, or any girl for that matter. The warmth in his chest turned to a mixture of bliss and pure joy as the two realized that they still had each other as more than friends.

Mike released Allie from the kiss, breathing, "I love you, Alice Rhodes."

* * *

**Sherlock**

Sherlock was correct in anticipating Lestrade's arrival. However, he didn't anticipate the inspector brining his lunch with him.

"What do you mean you won't help me?" Lestrade spat in a panic. "Sherlock, this is just the kind of case you like and if I don't get this man home, my boss—and the media—will have my head!"

"Oh, I never said I wouldn't help, you just should have waited another hour and a half before you came asking for it," Sherlock explained.

"And why is that?"

"Alice is not home."

"For God's sakes, just leave a note and tell her you went to the station!" the inspector cried out. It was all Sherlock could do to just roll his eyes. People were so simple minded…how could they function?

"She's coming with me on this case, moron," Sherlock finally spat out. Lestrade stopped pacing and gave the detective a horribly confused gaze.

"I'm sorry?"

"Sherlock sort of promised Allie that she could come with him this time," John explained.

"She's been on cases before!"

"Well, she fought her way on cases before," John clarified. He then leaned over and whispered something unintelligible to Lestrade's ear. Whatever he said, something must have clicked because the next thing he knew, Lestrade was nodding with too much enthusiasm.

"One hour," Lestrade said sternly, pointing at Sherlock. "Be at the station in one hour or you're off the case."

"Okay," Sherlock answered, mildly confused.

"Just go fetch Allie!" Lestrade ordered. Sherlock caught onto what the inspector was saying and ran over to grab his coat, but he paused, disgusting boiling in the back of his mind.

"Her name is Alice!"

* * *

**Alice**

I walked into Max's room to find him passed out on his bed, drooling all over his pillow. I scooped him into my arms, rolling him on his back and rasberrying his belly. The boy awakened with knowing squeals.

"Allie! STOP!" my brother giggled wildly as I tickled him and rolled around with him in my arms. When we both settled down, I released the little boy from my chokehold and sat up straight in his bed.

"How've you been, Little Man?" I asked. Max merely shook his head with the biggest smile on his face before leaping into my arms again. He said few words and refused to let go of me as I carried him around the apartment-sized hotel room, visiting with Josh and eating brunch with Emily and Mike. I couldn't have been there for more than an hour when Dad came barging through the doors throwing clothes on me.

"Shower and get dressed, we have to be at the station in less than an hour," he said quickly. My smile fell and I gave him the fiercest glare I could muster through my disbelief as Max nearly exploded and screamed in my arms.

"DAD!" I yelled as my brother squealed, "SHERLOCK HOLMES!"

Dad looked up at both of us nodding in slight confusion, responding, "Yes? And yes. You must be the Little Man I've heard so much about."

"You really told him about me, Allie?" Max bounced in my arms, unable to contain his glee. I was barely able to acknowledge his question as I tried to gather my thoughts together.

"I thought you said I had until noon!" I gasped.

"I didn't exactly anticipate Lestrade bringing his lunch with him," Dad explained. "He usually eats before coming to see me…his boss must be siding with Anderson and Donavan on this one…"

"Well, I haven't seen Max in over a month," I said, "You go on ahead, I'll catch up."

"No, you need to come with me," Dad ordered. "Clean up and get dressed. We don't have much time or we're off the case."

"But Dad—"

"But Alice!" Dad whined, and I was almost certain that he wasn't just mocking me. "We just started talking and things are working out…don't ruin it with canceled father-daughter plans!"

"I remember falling asleep," I noted.

"Well, I read to you and you eavesdropped on my conversation with John while pretending to sleep. And honestly, that's as close as we're ever going to get," Dad explained. My eyes widened as he said that. How did he-?

But I answered my own question and sighed, "The hug gave it away, didn't it."

Dad allowed a smirk as he nodded, "Just a little."

Sighing heavily, I glanced down at Max who crossed his arms and pouted. "I guess you can go…" he sighed.

My heart fell knowing how disappointed he must have been as I kissed his forehead, bending over to set him down when my brother added, "but only if I get to see a dead body."

"Maxwell James Bloomington!" Josh roared from his previously observant position. I, on the other hand, stood frozen in my bent-over position, my arms still reached out towards Max.

That conniving little shit!

Max turned to Josh and shrugged, "What?"

"You are not going with your sister to see dead bodies!" Josh scolded. Max, however, was a stubborn thing.

"Sure I am," Max answered. "I may not be a deduck—a deedoosh—a—whatever Sherlock Holmes can do like Sherlock Holmes! But I can be useful just the same!"

"Learn how to pronounce 'deduction' first, kiddo," I whispered.

"Sweetie, with the two of you together, you'll _need_ me to translate your alien language," Max retorted with the most sass and hip sway I have ever seen in a six-year-old.

"Alien language?" I asked. Max nodded furiously.

"Oh yeah! When you start talking, you don't stop until you've made a point and everyone's head is spinning! Dr. Watson can't keep up with two of you!" the little boy explained enthusiastically.

"Why?" I dared to ask.

"Because you're stupid," Max answered. "Not in a bad way. You're just stupid with people. That's why you broke up with Mike."

"Maxwell!" Josh interjected. I took a deep breath and looked up to my father or John for help, but the two of them were giggling uncontrollably.

"Apologies, Maxwell, but there will be no bodies on this case," Dad explained between his fits of laughter. "But we have a friend who works in the morgue. Next time she gets in a fresh one, you'll be the first to know."

Max's face just lit up as he shouted, "AWESOME!" before running up to his room. I looked from Dad to Josh, who was clearly not happy with the resolution of the conversation.

"What's so funny?" Josh asked through grit teeth. Dad and John attempted to straighten up and look my stepdad in the eye, but the moment they looked back at each other, the two doubled over, their faces bright red from laughing.

"He's you're brother, Allie!" John spit out in one breath as he crossed his legs.

I shook my head and made use of the shower in the hotel. When I was dressed and ready to leave (with_out_ my boots, mind you), those two were still laughing. Josh had given up on understanding the duo and went into the kitchen to wash dishes. I put my hands in my pockets and followed them out the door.

"Okay, what is it?" I asked once we were out the door. Dad was laughing so hard he could barely lift his arm to hail a taxi.

"Your brother!" he giggled. The cab pulled up to the curb and we all stepped in. As we got seated, I still didn't quite get what was so hilarious.

"Yeah?" I answered.

"Wants to see a dead body!" John roared, smacking his hand to his knee. "And the way he talked to you-!"

"Are you sure he's not mine too?" Dad asked, delivering the punch line to the pathetic joke that had the small children nearly peeing their pants.

"The experiment of Sherlock Holmes part 2: CLONING!" John was practically on Dad's lap, he couldn't sit up straight. At that point, my smile turned to giggles and my giggles were beginning to take over my train of thought as they escalated to tears streaming down my face, I was laughing so hard when the hilarity of my little brother's behavior took hold of all three of us.

"That little shit is a sass basket!" I whaled, leaning my head back. Dad was turned to the side with his head pressed against John's chest as he tried to control his laughing while John was too busy remembering how to breathe to care what Dad or I were doing. We were still wrecks when we arrived to the station, having to hold each other up and cracking dirty jokes with each other the whole way in.

"What's so funny?" Lestrade asked, placing his hands on his hips in utter confusion. Still fueling the fire to our laughter, I had to be the one to deliver the last punchline.

"Why don't you go get Donavan and find out?" I asked. "I'm sure Dad has another experiment he needs help with!"

John fell to his knees and pressed his head to the ground as Dad through his arm on my shoulder to keep standing, his face almost purple. In reality, our jokes probably weren't that funny, but we were such idiots, any sort of sex joke involving Dad's social stupidity and thoughtless experimentation was like comedic gold.

When Lestrade was too dense to get the joke and started to literally call Sgt. Donavan down, we all sobered up and lunged forward to stop him.

"That was inappropriate of me, sorry," I muttered once we explained to the inspector that we were joking.

"Bloody brilliant if you ask me," Dad whispered back and I let out a snort in an attempt to suppress my giggles.

"Anyway!" Lestrade butted in. "As you know, a tabloids journalist has been abducted within the last two weeks and we have reason to believe that she is being held hostage and could possibly be killed. All we have to go by is a ransom but with no finger prints to trace back to were found on it. We have released no further information to the media on the matter."

"But you will release the information to me, Inspector," Dad stated with his hands behind his back. "For starters, who is the victim?"

Lestrade bit his lip, hesitating to answer the question. "Let's just say that you know her."

"And let's just say that that means nothing to me," Dad retorted. "I need names. Journalists are constantly putting well-known faces under fire, I should know from personal experience. They can make a lot of enemies in a short amount of time. But first, I need to narrow the field of suspects based on which reporter wrote what about whom. The only way I can know that is if I know the reporter's name now answer my question."

Sighing heavily, the inspector looked Sherlock in the eye and said in a low voice, "Kitty Riley."

There was a long silence in the room. I wasn't even in the same country when it happened and I knew who Kitty Riley was. Her article on my Dad's falsified cases spread to front pages of newspapers and magazines all over the U.S. And his apparent 'suicide' and 'revival' made headlines on TV for the entire year and a half Dad was in hiding and then some. I didn't really know who 'Sherlock Holmes' was back then, but I knew the name just as well as any fan or hater did.

"Well, if that's the case, she can just suffer," Dad spat in a low voice. I leaned my head back and shot him a glare, expecting John to help me with this, but I was shocked to find both men standing in equally reserved positions, both ready to leave the building.

"You guys can't be serious," I groaned.

"You weren't there, Allie," John said in a low voice. "If it hadn't been for that damn article!"

"If it hadn't been for Mycroft leaking my entire childhood to Jim Moriarty," Dad corrected. "But that spineless blood-sucking wench who ruined my name just for the sake of pay-raise makes me sick. Like I said, she can suffer."

"Sherlock's name is still not completely cleared!" John continued. "You're lucky you haven't been on too many cases with us yet, Allie. Do you have any idea what the public says about your father?"

"I really don't care about public opinion, John," I stated, crossing my arms. "So I don't really listen to it. Okay, look, so life has been difficult getting clients and solving cases without a third party breathing down your neck. Kitty Riley is the journalist that ruined you…but if you prove her wrong, she could be the journalist who can bring you back to glory."

"I don't need glory, I need these petty leeches to allow me space to do my job!" Dad yelled, glaring mostly at Lestrade. I looked from the inspector to my father and back, suddenly realizing just how much of a toll the scandal had taken on every one. And where was I? Sleeping in English class at school in middle-of-nowhere New Mexico. The teacher that year was really a horrible person too.

"Well, either way, if she is indebted to you—if the Yard is indebted to you—they'll be at your beck and call. You can get them to do whatever you need them to," I pointed out. Gears started turning in my father's head as he thought about that.

"Very well," Dad said in a clipped tone. He spun around on his heels and began to walk out of Lestrade's office ordering, "I need to see the original ransom note immediately!"

* * *

**John**

Don't ask him how they wound up wandering along the tracks of the London Underground, the doctor still did not know how Allie and Sherlock took a note that said, "SOFT KITTY WARM KITTY WILL BE A BALL OF FUR IF YOU DON'T JOIN ME" with absolutely no fingerprints or identification markers on it and traced it all the way to the bloody Tube. The search had taken them three days, but Sherlock was certain that Kitty Riley was trapped down here somewhere.

"You really need to let me spend time with my brother when this is all over," Allie whispered as they followed the tracks. They stopped worrying about cars coming through the tunnel system when they turned a corner and noticed the corroded steel of the disused portion of the Tube that they now walked through.

"After, we finish this," Sherlock replied in a low and steady voice. His methodic tone was enough to put John to sleep right where he stood. The doctor shook the exhaustion off, wondering where it came from.

They wandered down the tunnel for a ways before they came across a fork in the road. One tunnel was well-lit but still obviously unused while the other was even older and darkened. Allie gestured to the lit tunnel and said, "I'll take this one. You guys take the other one. I'll call you if I find anything."

"Alice!" Sherlock hissed, grabbing the girl's arm. "Kitty will be in one of these tunnels, we don't have to split up, simply deduce which one she is in!"

"Well, if you were to deduce a fork in the road in an unused portion of the Tube looking for the reporter that put your name to shame with the suspect leaving a note referencing an American TV show as some joke, what would you think?" Allie asked in a sharp tone.

"Alice…"

"That there is something on both ends, right?" Allie pressed on. "We need answers, Dad. I have a black belt in Tai Kwan Do and a gun strapped to my belt. Surprisingly, I still have service down here so I will call if I see anything. I'll take the lit tunnel. You two go on ahead."

"Just…" Sherlock groaned, turning away from Allie, "Please. Be safe."

Allie nodded her head with a kind yet serious expression. With that, the three split off. John glanced up at Sherlock periodically during their trek, the entire time, the detective stalked forward with his eyes glazed over and his mouth pursed into a fine line. Part of John wondered if he should have gone with her instead of Sherlock, but the other half knew that Allie was more of a fighter than Sherlock. True, the detective knew how to throw a punch and had taken down plenty of criminals, but Allie was trained to defend herself and unlike Sherlock, she knew when to walk away from a dangerous situation when given the chance. She wouldn't play a criminal's game for the sake of entertainment.

They stopped when they heard a loud thud. Sherlock turned in circles, shining his flashlight to the walls when the light shone over a door. It was a small metal door that must have been used to reach the power grid within this portion of the Tube. John didn't take much interest in it, but Sherlock bounded straight towards the door and pried it open with all his strength. To the doctor's amazement, Kitty Riley's limp body fell out of the small opening and into Sherlock's arms as he pulled it open. Her mouth was gagged and her limbs were tied. She was barely breathing, but still alive. John gave the woman immediate medical attention and within minutes, she was regaining consciousness, and sobbing when she did so.

"John," Sherlock breathed. The doctor ignored his friend, his head buried in his duties as a doctor. "John!" Sherlock said again with urgency.

"What?" John snapped back, but his heart stopped in his chest when he saw his friend's pale complexion with his phone to his ear.

"She's not answering."

Before they could reply, they heard Allie's shrill scream ring out through the tunnel system.

* * *

**Alice**

I had been walking through the tunnel for roughly twenty minutes when the lights went out.

"Shit," I spat under my breath. I fumbled around with my flashlight and turned it on, slowly becoming spooked by the darkness. Dammit, why did I volunteer to go alone? I should've asked Mike or someone to join us…

I looked around, shining my flashlight throughout the tunnel, but nearly jumped out of my skin when the light danced across someone's face.

"No, no, don't be afraid," The man said. "Your dad just found Kitty trapped in the power grid. The lights should come back on soon."

Just as he said that, emergency lights kicked on and I found myself standing in front of a dark-haired man with carefully tweezed eyebrows, a maniacal smile, and a fancy suit. He seemed happy to see me…a little too happy. Though he didn't intend to harm me. At least not yet.

"Alice Rhodes," the man said. "Your life just keeps getting curioser and curioser...you met your father the Mad Hatter, when do you think you'll find the smiling cat?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but apparently, the man had just tickled himself with his last statement. "And to think that he had a daughter! All this time! He's on the side of the angels…but you're stuck in Wonderland! It's just perfect!"

"Who are you?" I managed to ask between breaths of his ridiculous monologue.

"Oh, that's none of your concern at the moment, Alice, dear. I think the real question is: where have you been?" the deranged man asked, laughing at his puns.

"Okay, quoting the movie that just came out does not make any of those jokes funny," I retorted. The man stopped laughing and his expression grew frighteningly serious.

"All bark, just like Sherlock, I see. My this will be a fun game indeed," he said, taking a step towards me. I held my ground, struggling to control my racing heartbeat. "Oh, don't be scared, Alice. I'm not hear to hurt you. Well…not yet. But I'm sure you've figured this out already."

"Then care to tell me why you're here?" I managed to push the words out of my mouth, taking deep breaths.

"I need you to deliver a message to your sweet daddy for me," the man explained. He was circling around me, his face so close I could smell the lavender scent coming off his cologne. "Tell Sherlock Holmes that Kitty was only the preview for what is to come. A relatively boring preview, I'll admit, but this tunnel will soon become the highest point he will ever hope to reach in his lifetime again. He thinks he can fake his death, but he is wrong. The game never ended. It never will. And I am back and ready to play harder than he could ever imagine. I am still alive, just as he is. I will tear him to shreds. I will end him, but not before deboning and tormenting his precious daughter and beating her cold, lifeless corpse right before his eyes. Do you understand me?"

"Who the hell are you?" I choked out, my voice raspy with pure deranged terror. The man let out a small chuckle.

"Tell your father that James Moriarty sends his regards," the man whispered into my ear. The lights went out again and when they returned I was still standing frozen in place, but the man was gone. My hands shaking out of control, I lifted them to my head slowly.

"Dad?" I whimpered, backing up slowly. This couldn't be happening. But John said…Moriarty was…that was just a story…that…no…

Before I knew it, I had fallen to my knees and let out a terrified scream:

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"


	6. We're All Mad

Okay! Well, I must admit this is one of the fics that always makes me worry when I update. Partially because this was the one idea I wrote down out of the blue before planning what would happen and partially because I know how easy it is to screw up a johnlock/parentlock/sherlock has an illegitimate child...lock fic...so...yeah! Anyway, enough of my personal thoughts XD

ENJOI

* * *

**Alice**

_The lights were dimmed at night so those of us who waited could sleep. Yet I never slept. I felt as if I were walking through a nightmare; stalking carefully through the halls of broken people. In the spring at the height of the desert's bloom, there was a time when I could pretend that the small stone garden and cacti blooming in our back yard was Wonderland and that I could escape my life to live inside a Fairytale. But this was no fairytale. The only fate that awaits the dreamers is hell: watching everyone you care about be torn to shreds and looking to you as if your misery didn't exist. _

_I sat in the chair with Max in my lap. Lucky for him, he was not plagued with the horrid realization of reality. He could still hold hope that Mom would be okay. And yet every single time that red bulb resting on the ceiling would begin blinking, triggered by other lights scattered throughout the ICU's halls, we would all awaken. Some would jump, others would yelp, and sometimes, we'd all shed a tear or two. And we all held onto one another. Not just Max, Josh, and me, but everyone who sat in the waiting room. A week ago, strangers, now a group of bonded hearts held together by the deaths of our loved ones. As always, I held Max to my chest and stroked his sandy hair as Josh put a hand on my shoulder. But I didn't tremble. I couldn't. I was not struck with fear of the possibility that the doctor who came out would be approaching me. Something had changed. I wasn't afraid. For some reason, I was now certain. _

_And like always, the doctor, on this shift it was Dr. Colton, came skulking out into the waiting room, his face grayed and his eyes blank from years of losing patients to the cold grip of death. By this point, those of us who waited could only brace for pain, our senses were dulled and the horror of losing our most treasured person would only awaken if the doctor had uttered the words. When Dr. Colton locked eyes with mine, I stood without thinking._

"_Allie…?" Max whispered. I ignored him and set him down in my chair. Josh tried to stop me from approaching the doctor, unaware of what I already knew, but when Dr. Colton bypassed all other faces to meet me, I heard the ruffling sound of Josh scooping Max into his arms protectively. _

_But Dr. Colton didn't say what I expected: "She wants to speak with you."_

_My jaw dropped and the blood drained from my face. The ICU was a sterile environment. We weren't allowed to see the patients in there. "That's not allowed," was all I could muster._

_Dr. Colton shook his head, looking defeated as he explained, "She was begging. So please, Alice, just one last time, let her speak with her daughter."_

_My heart felt like it was made of lead weights as I followed him to Mom's room. The sound of blood rushing through my ears blocked out all other noises and everything moved as if it were a silent movie and I was watching it from an audience. As I stepped in the room and paced towards my mother's defeated and emaciated form, she looked up at me with sad and aged eyes. I placed my hand on hers and her skin felt like paper. _

"_I'm sorry, Alice," she mustered. I took a deep breath and forced my tears back. I tried to speak, but the muscles in my neck and chest were too tight to let any sound escape my mouth. "I wish I were a better mother to you. I wish…I wish I could have given you a life you deserve…you have to leave…I've…I've hurt you Alice, and I am so so sorry…"_

_I allowed a few tears to fall down my cheeks as her head sunk back into the pillows and her eyes gazed up at nothing. Just as I remember her leaving this world. But then she sat back up, vibrant as ever, saying things that didn't exist in the reality I knew._

"_But don't worry, dear Alice, I'll see you soon," she said suddenly with a man's voice. I jumped and took a step back._

"_Mom?" I choked out. She shook her head and suddenly, Jim Moriarty was grinning wildly at me, laughing wildly._

"_Oh Alice, dear, where have you been?" he asked mockingly. "They were screaming for help and you never listened. So alone in the world, the star-crossed lovers, so alone because the one mistake they made trapped them in Wonderland."_

"_What the hell are you saying?" I screamed. Just the sight of Moriarty's face was enough to make my stomach churn and now my fear was turning to hysterics. _

"_Your parents of course," Moriarty explained. "They didn't really love each other per say…but a mother who conceived a child to pay the rent, alienated by her loved ones and a father trapped in the recesses of his mind with no idea you existed. How pathetic their lives must have been. Crying for mercy and the only one who could save them was you, and you just closed everyone out of your life like an arrogant child. But now, Alice Rhodes, who will be there to listen when you scream for help? No one. Isn't that brilliant?"_

I awoke to bright lights and the sounds of my own screams. I could see flashes of my father, John, Josh, and Michael mixed in with images of nurses and faces I did not know. Hands held me down, but I struggled and forced myself to sit up, writhing in panic.

"GET OFF OF ME! GET AWAY FROM ME!" I screamed, flailing my arms.

"Allie! Calm down! You're alright now," John reassured. I could barely make out the scrubs he now wore and the syringe in his hand. I knew he recently had a job in the hospital, but what was he doing in that uniform? "I have to sedate her, but I can't stick her until she settles down. Sherlock, do something!"

"What do you want me to do?" I heard my father's voice ask. The faces in front of me spun around in a frantic blur and suddenly Dad was staring down at me, his cold eyes calculating as ever, but widened in a mixture of fear and shock. The sounds of manic grunts and the loud panting of an animal filled my sound and made it difficult to perceive anything else. There was something dangerous in this room and I had to get away!

"Let me go!" I struggled again. "It's not safe!" By this point, tears were falling from my eyes and I could see both Dad and Josh fighting to press my shoulders down with the help of at least one more pair of hands.

"Why isn't it safe, Alice?" Dad asked with his resonant voice. I blinked several times and the rhythm of his words leaving his throat calmed me enough to speak coherently.

"That man!" I cried, whimpering. "He should've died but he didn't. He's coming, Dad, he's coming and he's not dead!"

"Who's not dead? Alice, who are you talking about?" Dad asked. His face grew larger and I forced myself back to a sitting position against the six other hands and struck my forehead against my father's.

"He knows who I am! How does he know who I am? You didn't even know me! He knows who I am and he's coming!" I cried again.

Michael and Josh's faces appeared suddenly and they turned into ghosts. Josh saw death in front of him and whispered, "Oh no…"

"Names, Alice, I need names!" Dad pleaded.

"He was in the Tube!"

"Who?"

"MORIARTY!"

The animal in the room must have been sick because it tried to growl but wheezed, letting out an even more terrifying noise. Not bothering to wonder where I was, I let out a loud scream. "GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

"Oh my god," I heard Mike's voice say through some sort of barrier. "She sounds like…"

"She sounds like her mother before a seizure…" Josh finished. "John, you need to do brain scans on Allie, something must be horribly wrong!"

"I DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE ALONE! DON'T YOU HEAR ME?" I screamed, the words Moriarty spoke in the ICU repeating over and over again in my head. I didn't know they needed me. I didn't know. Would they really take revenge on me for not knowing? "I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T KNOW!"

"Sherlock, we need to calm her down, she's hallucinating," John stated. He too was a ghost, though he didn't see death, he could only see the animal in the room, and it seemed like he was the only one besides me who could.

"What did she see in the Tube?" Dad asked under his breath. His head then shook and his hand pressed against my shoulder. "Alice, calm down. You're alright now."

"NO!" I whaled. I grasped onto his wrist and dug my nails into his skin and pushed his wrist down until I heard a pop. Dad let out a scream of pain but didn't retract his hand. "I'M SCREAMING AND YOU DON'T LISTEN! I'M SORRY I COULDN'T HEAR BEFORE BUT YOU HAVE TO!"

"ALICE!" Dad screamed. Suddenly, my cheek stung and the floor was in front of me, thought I was still being forced to lie down. That angered the animal and I let out another scream. My chest tightened violently, and I leaned my head back as I now writhed in both fear and pain.

"Sherlock!" John scolded.

"What was I supposed to do?"

"Anything but that!"

"Dr. Watson," a stranger's voice entered. Her words were shrill and caused my ears to start ringing. I could barely hear anything over the animal's breathing and the buzzing in my ears. "She's going into syncope."

"Give her some space! I've got this!" Mike suddenly shouted through the barrier and his three heads appeared in front of me. His hands cupped my cheeks and I initially tried to fight him off. This animal was going to attack me, why did they keep forcing me down?

"GET OFF ME!"

"Shh, Allie," Mike whispered, his thumb stroking my cheeks. My form tensed and suddenly, my thought process shut down as everything turned fuzzy. I barely remember Mike whispering words into my ear and the only thought that crossed my mind was that there was no animal in the room: those noises had all been me.

"I'm sorry," I wept as my body finally relaxed.

"Don't be," Michael cooed, flashing a brilliant smile. He gently coaxed me to my back and I looked up to see both Dad and Josh staring down at me with solemn expressions on their faces. John then stepped in front of them and rubbed the crook of my arm gently.

"You're alright now, Allie, now I'm going to give you something to help you sleep, okay?" John said in a soft voice. Panic rose in my chest again as I tried to sit up, but Mike placed his hand on my head and ruffled my hair as Dad stepped forward suddenly to hold me down.

"But I don't want to sleep," I whimpered.

"But you've got to," John pleaded, his eyes glistening. I looked to Dad, wanting to beg him to let me run away from this madness. I didn't even know what had happened to me, but I knew it wasn't good and I had to run away.

"Please," I begged, my throat too tight to speak with ease. Dad was silent for a long moment, but his mouth hung open in search of the right words.

"She pictured herself how this same little sister of hers would," he said suddenly, his eyes drifting away as if to remember the fairytale, "in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood: and how she would gather about her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago: and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life…"

"…and the happy summer days," I whispered back. Dad locked his gaze on mine with powerful eyes that wouldn't allow me to look away until the sharp needle pierced my skin and my consciousness faded in the dreamless slumber.

* * *

**Sherlock**

When they found Alice she was whimpering on her knees and alone in the tunnel she had gone down. When Sherlock tried to speak to Alice, however, she tried to attack him, even pulled her gun. It took John sneaking up from behind and wrestling Alice to the ground to get the pistol out of her hands and restrain her, she was absolutely manic. Initially, they thought she was having some form of an anxiety attack, she showed the symptoms for it, but when the ambulance arrived and she only worsened, John rushed to the hospital with both Kitty and Alice in the ambulance (they even had to strap Alice to the gurney for Christ sake) while Sherlock raced home to alert the others what had happened. Even in the emergency room, with John scrubbed up and the nurses working alongside him, Alice would not quiet, her breathing was borderline rabid and she let out screams as if she was running from something no one else could see. They tried to sedate her, but the anesthesia only lasted twenty minutes, her adrenaline was pumping through her systems so rapidly. When she woke up, she was even worse, screaming nonsense, her eyes red and wild. And then Josh Bloomington said the worst thing possible:

"She sounds like her mother right before a seizure."

They needed to sedate Alice, but they had to calm her first. Sherlock tried to speak to her, but her screams and jumbled sentences only grew more and more manic until, without realizing it, Sherlock became so panicked he slapped the girl across the face. He knew that would only worsen things, but he had no control over his reflexes. Watching Michael calm her only made Sherlock feel even more insane. His chest tightened and his breathing quickened. Something was happening to Alice. Something horrible. It must've been Michael's doing. Suddenly, the room began to swim and he stumbled over his own feet, but Josh caught the detective before he could fall.

The movement caused John to jump and turn to the detective, his face pale and his eyes looking as panicked as Alice's had initially been.

And that was all Sherlock needed to realize that it wasn't just Alice who was affected. Whether he found that comforting or not, he had no idea, but something in the Tube had triggered Alice's anxiety attack. Something that affected John and Sherlock too.

They finally sedated Alice and after several minutes of monitoring her vitals, John relaxed enough to leave the nurses alone with their patient.

"John, you need to do a brain scan on Allie," Josh pleaded. "She sounded exactly like Jessica when she first started having seizures. Actually, she sounded worse. She was delusional. You have to run tests, John."

"I know!" John screamed suddenly. Sherlock could feel his chest tighten and spots danced along his vision for a moment, but he tried to hold his composure together. John trembled, but shook off the outburst. "Sorry, lack of sleep. But I know, Josh, I know. I'm going to make sure the anesthesia holds because I don't want her waking up in the middle of an MRI and panicking. I'm going to order those tests now, however.

Alice remained sedated for the entire three hours they ran tests. Whether it was fortunate or unfortunate, Sherlock did not know, but all tests came back normal. They put Alice on oxygen and waited for her to wake up before anything else happened, but that time of waiting only drove the detective to agony. His thoughts stopped making sense, sentiment overwhelmed him, he couldn't see straight. He had to get out; he felt like he was screaming but no one could hear him. He didn't remember screaming at Molly when she came down to check on him, but when John dragged him into another room and he saw the tearful woman glaring at him, Sherlock figured he had done something wrong.

"You need to calm down," John said.

"I AM CALM!" Sherlock roared. John jumped back in surprise and Sherlock's eyes widened when he heard the sounds of an animal breathing behind him. Something was definitely wrong.

"Dr. Watson," a nurse came in suddenly, interrupting the two. "It's Miss Riley, she's awake."

"Oh…" John breathed, his face pale, "I'll be there in a minute. Let Inspector Lestrade know, he'll need to do some questioning."

"I don't think that's possible, sir," the nurse said. Sherlock looked up at the nurse. She seemed panic. Whatever was wrong, the nurse had seen it before, and it wasn't too long ago that she had seen it. "Miss Riley is manic. She's displaying the same symptoms as Miss Rhodes did."

"What?" John squeaked. "Sedate her, now! If not, calm her down at least!"

"Yes sir," the nurse said and then disappeared. Meanwhile, John was pacing the room like a madman, panicking and mumbling gibberish.

"This isn't good, this is not good," John breathed. "It's not safe, something is wrong. SHERLOCK SOMETHING IS WRONG!"

Before either of them knew it, John was grasping hold of Sherlock's shoulders and the two were both whimpering and struggling in each others' grasp as if they were rabid animals. When Sherlock calmed enough to let his vision focus, he suddenly realized what had really happened.

"A drug," he said curtly.

John sobered up enough to give the detective a quizzical look an ask, "What?"

"A drug, John, we've all been exposed to it!" Sherlock stated, unable to keep from smiling. He let out a small laugh of realization, slightly frustrated that he hadn't caught it before. His mind cleared as he thought back to the hundreds of air vents that lined the top of the tunnel system they walked through. "It must've been a gas that they fed through the air vents! Brilliant!"

"You're saying that we've been gassed?" John repeated, slightly baffled.

"Yes! Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock asked. When he was met with the all to familiar blank expression, Sherlock's smile fell and he groaned. Even in a still slightly panicked state, the detective ignored his growing tunnel-vision and explained, "there were air vents lined throughout the Tube. We all commented at some point that the air smelled stale—more so than an abandoned tunnel system should—and Alice and Kitty are both displaying the same symptoms but we know for a fact that neither of them are showing any sever brain damage on the scans. Now you and I are both beginning to act manic and I can't see straight at the moment, but we didn't display the symptoms until provoked. Alice at the time of seeing whatever frightened her, Kitty upon waking up from being held captive, and you and me upon being unable to find explanations for what is happening to those two. Conclusion: we were gassed."

John then nodded in mild understanding and licked his lips. "So you are saying that we all have drugs in our system."

"Yes!" Sherlock stated again.

"So what do we do now?" John asked.

"Well, if you and I are both functioning properly still, the gas can't be deadly. If Alice has been on oxygen, it should clear her system of the drug. She'll be fine when she wakes up. I think," Sherlock explained, his mouth running a mile a minute. "The question now is who filled the Tube with gas."

"I wish I knew," John shrugged. The two men paused for a moment, not wanting to make eye contact. There was something very unnerving about the situation. "Sherlock, what Allie said back there. About Moriarty. Do you think that's actually true? She was drugged after all."

Sherlock thought on that for a moment. He saw Jim Moriarty shoot himself in the head. A stunt like that is unlikely to fake. Then again, this was coming from the man who jumped off a building and survived to trick the world into thinking he was gone too. Before he turned to leave, he said, "I guess we'll have to find out."

* * *

**Alice**

If this is what a hangover felt like, I wanted no part in drinking. Ever. I woke up coughing uncontrollably, fighting the urge to spit out the bile that rose in the back of my throat. The sound of pressurized gas flowing out from a machine overwhelmed my sense of hearing but it wasn't until I tried opening my mouth that I realized an oxygen mask was placed over my nose and lower jaw. I pulled it off my head as fast as my lead-weighted arms would allow. I then tried to sit up, but I felt so drugged from anesthesia, I only slumped back into my pillows with my neck contorted awkwardly, too tired to adjust myself to a more comfortable position. I sat there limply, searching the room I had suddenly found myself in. Based on the sterile smell and the way too white interior, it was easy to deduce that I was in the hospital…but why? Did I get hit by a subway train or something? I remember the power going out…and that man…a violent shiver ran up my spine upon seeing his face. There was something about him that struck fear into the very pit of my stomach.

My father disrupted all thoughts, however, when he opened the door and stepped into my room. Nonchalant as ever, he cocked his head and stated, "good, you're awake."

"What the hell happened?" I spat back, crossing my arms. "I remember being fine before you pulled the power grid to get Kitty out, did you switch the track and send a train barreling down on top of me or something?"

"Before I answer that, I need to ask you how you knew where Kitty was trapped," Dad explained as he pulled up a stool and sat down beside my bed. I fought hard to recall the events that had happened, biting my lip.

"Someone told me," I explained. "The power went out where I was and when the emergency lights kicked on there was a man in a suit standing in front of me. He said that the lights went out because you had found Kitty. He also said…that her kidnapping was some sort of preview for other things he had planned. I really can't remember too much, though I was having some very bizarre dreams…was I—was I hallucinating at one point?"

"Very much so yes," Dad answered curtly. "We found you kneeled in the ground in the tunnel you took, mumbling nonsense but tried attacking us whenever we approached. John thought it was an anxiety attack initially but you only worsened and turned borderline psychotic. It took heavy sedation before we could calm you."

If I wasn't feeling like crap before, I felt as if I had been hit by a train and then drug underneath the tracks for about five miles then. I had lost it? Really? I swallowed hard before I dared asking, "How bad was I?"

"Quite terrifying, actually," Dad said, his gaze drifting to the ground. We sat in silence for a long moment and my mind immediately flew back to when Mom first got sick. She had several terrifying episodes where she would start acting completely insane, screaming and crying at some points even. Usually those episodes would end in a seizure. Most times, when she would wake up again, she'd have a terrible headache and not remember—

"Oh dear god," I breathed. My heart began racing in fear and I forced myself to ask, "do you know what caused it?"

"We are not certain, but I believe John will come in shortly to take a blood sample for a few tests," Dad answered. He observed me as my face paled and I shrunk back into my pillow in a desperate attempt to hold myself together. His eyes squinted in confusion before suddenly filling with what appeared to be understanding and he placed his hand on my knee explaining, "It is not cancer or any sort of tumor, Alice. You're going to be alright."

I wasn't sure if that was good news or not. "So I just went crazy for no reason?"

"Don't be daft, Alice, there is reason behind everything," Dad scoffed. I shot him a glare and he corrected himself, "What I mean to say is, you are not the only one who suffered hallucinations and a severe anxiety attack. Kitty Riley woke up with the same symptoms and John and I were feeling quite unusual ourselves. I have reason to believe that we've been gassed. Nothing serious, just a hallucinogenic drug that got into the ventilation system. You had an oxygen mask on so it should be out of your system by this point."

"What about you?" I asked. "If you've been gassed, don't you need oxygen?"

"Oh, I'm fine for now," Dad shrugged. "Besides, John needed a blood sample with it still fully in my system so he could be sure that this is a drug. If I start foaming at the mouth, we'll worry then."

"Very funny," I rolled my eyes.

"I'm working on my sense of humor," Dad explained. He sat up a little straighter as if he were proud of himself for his joke. I gave the detective a skeptical smirk and his shoulders deflated slightly. "That was sarcasm…"

"Just a little," I retorted.

"Anyway," Dad redirected the subject out of frustration, "You said you spoke with a man in the tunnel system. Who was he? Did he say?"

At that, I held my breath and hesitated to say, "he said his name was…Jim Moriarty…"

"That's not possible," Dad gasped in a low voice. I avoided eye contact. The gas thing I could believe, knowing that there was a huge gap in my memory. But Jim Moriarty's sneer grin was painted vividly in my mind and there was no ridding his portrait from my head.

"It's what he said," I shrugged. "He even knew who I was. Knew my name, knew I was your daughter. Hell, he even made Alice in Wonderland jokes." I dared to look up at my father, fighting back the tears and the outright fear that pumped through my veins. "That can't be possible, can it?"

"I saw him shoot himself in the head," Dad stated in deep thought. "The probability of him surviving that is slim to none at that…and actually knowing who you are…any spies that he had working for him have either been executed or imprisoned by this point. No one in the criminal underworld would dare work for him now, not without a significant amount of money—funds which have already been uprooted from his name and distributed throughout England."

"So it was the gas then," I stated mostly to bring my own hopes up. "I got drugged and dreamed the whole thing up."

"I wouldn't say it so, Alice," Dad said, wiping away any and all hope that I was still sane. "From what I've experienced, it takes some sort of stimulus to create the hallucinations. I've experienced a drug similar to this before—you read John's blog on the Hounds of Baskerville, right?—I didn't start feeling ill until you were sedated and Josh brought up that your mother displayed similar symptoms when she was sick. John started acting up as well, but he didn't start shouting the way you did until a nurse told him that Kitty was just as manic as you were. I would suspect that this 'Jim Moriarty' and his extensive knowledge of you triggered the hallucinations to begin with."

Because that made me feel even better about myself, "So…I'm just going crazy."

"I didn't say you are wrong, I just said it is highly unlikely," Dad stated quickly upon sensing my distress. He then paused briefly and added, "though, Alice, if I may continue with the Wonderland jokes, you are insane to some extent."

"And why is that?" I asked him skeptically.

"You're the illegitimate daughter of a high functioning sociopath and you see everything, deduce almost everything (you aren't trained and still miss several spots, but you're improving). You flew to London the summer before your final year of secondary school in the place of applying to college and you insist on accompanying me on cases that take you straight to the hospital. Alice, you're outright mad," my father explained.

"I swear, if you're going to say 'but all the best people are', I'm going to strangle you," I snapped back.

"Why? It's true," Dad shrugged.

"Well, maybe for some people, but not me. Besides, I got tired of Mom telling me that over and over again. High school's been a train wreck as it is being me, I don't need you lying to me in some pathetic excuse of a pep talk," I groaned.

"Alice," Dad said curtly, "did it ever occur to you that your mother quoting that book might not be a lie?"

"I'm sure she genuinely believed it," I explained, "but that isn't true for me."

"Seventeen years old and you think you know the world despite this being your first trip outside of your small little hometown," Dad mused, chuckling slightly. I glared at him for a long time. I did not need my own father mocking me. But then my father said something I wasn't expecting, "If insanity is a curse, how the bloody hell do those people become famous? Look at Carroll! Look at the faces of people in history (and don't ask me to tell you their names)! For God's sake, look at my brother, he runs the British government and he grew up with _me_!"

I thought on that for a moment. Okay. He had a point. "And what about you?" I asked him, "You're pretty insane if you ask me."

"World's only consulting detective and internet phenomenon resurrected from the grave. I'd say that's not a bad way of living," Dad smirked. I managed to laugh at that as I shook my head.

"Alright, I see your point. We're mad, but all the best people are, as Mom would say. I'm holding you to that, though," I said, pointing my finger at my father. Doubt still clouded my ability to trust my parents' words.

"Give it time, Alice," Dad said, sitting back in his chair. "The world is not kind to proper geniuses. They're too stupid to even think. You'll find your way in the world, and you'll be far better off than I am."

At that, I couldn't help but giggle, "I'm not sure whether to take that as a complement or an insult to the rest of the human race."

"Both, probably," Dad suggested. I smiled and accepted that. It wasn't too long after that when blood tests came back and sure enough, we all had traces of drugs in our system. Much to Dad's protesting, he and John both spent a half hour on oxygen to clear their systems but took me home immediately after and John sent me straight to bed. If things couldn't have been any worse, I woke up around dinnertime with the worst stomach pains. I couldn't even sit through the meal Mrs. Hudson made and collapsed in front of the toilet and began vomiting.

"An allergic reaction to the drugs and medications you've been put under today, I'd imagine," John explained as Mrs. Hudson held my hair back while I hurled and Dad ran frantically around the flat searching for his nicotine patches that he _swore_ would settle my stomach. "You'll just have to let this pass through your system, Allie, I'm sorry."

"I found it!" Dad called suddenly as he ran into the bathroom. "Just put this on, Alice, and you'll be—"

"We're not having any of that, thank you!" John scolded, shoving Dad out of the bathroom. When there was nothing left in my stomach and my dry-heaving had settled, John and Mrs. Hudson helped me to my feet and laid me down on the couch before John went to the kitchen in search of something that would help me sleep. Like I needed any more rest at this point. "Sherlock, could you go to the store and pick up some ginger ale? Please?"

"B-But I thought alcohol makes you sick," Dad replied, absolutely dumbfounded. I narrowed my eyes and stared at my father in shock. Was he being serious?

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock, I mean soda pop! You know, bubbly, Mum gives it to you when you have an upset stomach, _nonalcoholic_? Ginger Ale?" John stepped out of the kitchen and spoke incredulously. Suddenly, Dad's eyes widened and flashed vibrantly with understanding.

"Oh yes! Yes, I know what you're speaking of," Dad nodded.

"Can you go get it?" John repeated.

"Well, you're in the kitchen—"

"From the store, Sherlock."

"Right! Um…what does it look like?"

"Oh, for crying out loud, Alice, will you be alright if I leave you alone for a while?" John asked me. I nodded my head weakly as I curled my knees to my chest, hoping it would keep the sensation of my stomach churning down to a minimum.

"She's not alone! I'm here!" Dad protested suddenly.

"And you're a great help," John retorted with the upmost sarcasm. "I'll be back soon!"

Once the door shut, Dad shot to his feet and began grumbling and throwing a few miscellaneous objects. "Doesn't think I can take care of you…I'm your father! Of course I can take care of you!"

"Dad?" I muttered weakly. The detective turned sharply to face me and cocked his head to the side.

"What?"

"You didn't know what Ginger Ale was."

He was silent for a long time before replying, "So?"

"And you shoot your gun at the wall when you get bored."

Again, he was silent, and for even longer this time before he finally said, "So I'm not a role model, but I can still take care of someone!"

I snorted a laugh, startling my father before I could say, "You tried to give me nicotine patches when I was throwing up!"

"It's worked for me before," Dad replied. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was pouting.

"Have you seriously not had Ginger Ale with an upset stomach before? I mean, back home, it was usually substituted with Sprite or Diet Coke, but it's practically the same thing," I asked. Dad then turned away from me and walked over to the window.

"It wasn't exactly necessary when I was young," he said in a low voice.

"You never got sick as a kid?" I asked. That was hard to believe.

"Oh, I was ill almost all of the time," Dad corrected. "I was almost held back a year in school I was sick so often."

At that, I shook my head in confusion. "I'm sorry, what? Was it the Flu or a cold or something?"

"It was everything. Chicken pox, stomach flu, pertussis, ear infections, you name it. Even had to take vaccines for food allergies. It paid off in the end, I'm hardly ill now. Don't even get the sniffles," he explained.

"So…what did you do? When you were sick, I mean."

"Oh," Dad's face contorted in thought. He placed his hands behind his back and he stared out the window. "I waited for it to pass. Couldn't do much else, really."

"But didn't your mom take care of you?" I asked almost desperately. As I spoke, I felt my stomach flop violently and I had to turn to a bowl that Mrs. Hudson placed by the couch for me and heaved. Dad waited for my stomach to settle before he spoke.

"Wasn't necessary," he said in a solemn voice. "I was a fairly problematic child. Mycroft and I, well, we both see the world in the same way, but he chooses to follow social norms and ignore what he sees. He kept quiet even as a boy so my…persistence and energy was often perceived as my way of seeking attention. There were times that my father would accuse my constant illness as a way of maintaining the spotlight, and I exhausted my poor mother to no end so at some point I just stopped complaining and asking for their assistance. Mycroft was easier to deal with so he ran the show."

"That must've been hard," was all I could say, but Dad only shrugged it off.

"I suppose, but that was so long ago, it's all but a relic stored in the back of my mind. All that really matters is the present moment, wouldn't you agree?" Dad stated. It wasn't long after that when John came back with Ginger Ale and saltine crackers. He was hesitant to give me any medicine because of how full of drugs my body had been in the course of twenty-four hours, but I sipped the soda and eventually grew drowsy.

"I think you should stay in our flat tonight, Allie," John stated and I couldn't really protest, nor did I really want to. "Sherlock, can she stay in your room and have you watch over her tonight?"

"Oh, so now my parenting skills are valued?" Dad spat back.

"She's not vomiting anymore and should be able to sleep, it's not that hard!" John retorted.

"Like getting Ginger Ale was?"

"For you, yes! Now will you look after her or not?"

Dad groaned loudly but helped me off the couch and led me to his room. I collapsed on the bed, barely able to pull the covers over me. My stomach still flopped occasionally, but I didn't think I was going to upchuck any more. Dad sat awkwardly in the chair across from his bed, his hands to his mouth as I sat up in his bed, the both of us staring at each other.

"Am…am I in the way? I can just go back upstairs if you—"

"No, no, you're fine where you are," Dad insisted. I sunk back into the covers and started to doze off when he suddenly asked, "Jim Moriarty?"

"Yes?" I replied. "Jim Moriarty."

"Did he really claim to be Moriarty?"

"Yeah."

"What else did he say?"

I thought for a moment, "he told me to pass a message onto you, but it was mostly threats. And he said that the whole Kitty Riley thing was the preview for what else he had in store. Do you think it means anything or did I just dream it up?"

"No…it all seems to elaborate to be a trick of the mind…" he mused, his index fingers sliding up and down his lips as he thought. "The journalist who ruined my name, the gas, and the threats he gave you. That sounds exactly like Moriarty…but how he knew who you were escapes me."

"But…why?" I found myself asking before I could think.

"I think the proper question would be 'how'." Dad corrected. I shook my head.

"No, I mean, why is he doing this? And why would he come to me?" I asked.

"Because he knows you're my daughter and he thinks it is a game," Dad answered in his most calculating voice. I shook my head again and lied down on my side.

As I dozed off into sleep, I whispered, "Why couldn't it be Mom who lived?"

* * *

**Sherlock**

When exhaustion finally over took him, he allowed himself to sit down in bed next to Alice. He laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling for a long time, thinking things over and running through the scenes in the hospital over and over again in his head.

At one point, Alice rolled over onto her stomach with her face facing Sherlock as she let out a soft snore. In the darkness, her complexion still appeared to be a slight shade of green, but even he could tell that she was feeling better. The detective lifted his hand suddenly, but paused as it hovered over the girl's head. What was he doing?

Perhaps the more important question was: what was Moriarty doing? Anger burned in Sherlock's chest suddenly as the thought of the man crept into his mind once again. He thought he was rid of that spider, but now Moriarty was back and coming after Alice of all people. Sherlock stared at Alice's sleeping face and she slowly started too look like the infant from the detective's dreams. The image of Alice writhing in agony on the stretcher of the Emergency Room only floored Sherlock. Moriarty did that to her!

Slowly, Sherlock allowed his hand to lower and his fingertips danced hesitantly through Alice's hair. It was soft and fluffy, yet thick and coarse like Sherlock's. Her face was rounder, but she even had his cheekbones. She was an innocent girl looking for her father, why would Moriarty come after her?

"Just what the hell do you have planned, you parasite?" Sherlock spat under his breath. This time for sure, he would capture and squash that spider. There would be no mercy.

* * *

**Moriarty**

He couldn't help but dance that night! Oh, it was all too exciting! He laughed jubilantly wandering about his office when his assistant came in. She was a new face, but one of his most loyal companions to date. At least, she had to be, which made her all the more interesting!

"Mr. Moriarty, sir, I brought you your tea," she said as she stepped in. Her chocolate eyes had all but lost their warmth and all she gave him was an icy stare.

"Oh, please dear, let's skip the formalities, shall we? Call me Jim! We're friends now, aren't we?" Jim sneered. His only response from her was the woman stiffly setting the tray down. "Have a drink with me."

"I have my own duties to attend to, _Jim_, I'm afraid that I can't spare the time," she stated.

"Oh please, what duty? You're dead! I'm dead! According to official record at least, but we're free to do whatever we want! So _what duty_?" Jim spat back at her, almost screaming. The woman stiffened but sat down across from Jim and took a cup in her hands. Jim smiled as he too took his seat. So loyal. He loved it! "I will say, I wish you had informed me of Alice Rhodes much sooner. I could have had all the more fun before I vanished."

"Timing is everything, sir, I'd say you wouldn't have as much fun ruining Sherlock's reputation _and_ stalking Miss Rhodes, two jobs at once would have overwhelmed you," the woman stated. She had a point, and the way this woman seemed to know these things just made her all the more fun to be around. Especially since she hated him! Haha!

"You are so right," Jim grinned, leaning forward. "You are absolutely right. I must say, you have been absolutely wonderful. A wonderful source of information. And when you came to me and shared with me that gorgeous little secret of yours. And that daughter of Sherlock's, I was over the moon. The game continues and it's marvelous!"

"Don't get carried away, Jim," the woman spat. "You know I only did that for the money. And I was supposed to die, so please explain to me why the _hell_ you got the doctors to keep me alive!"

"Simple experiment really," Jim stated matter-of-factly, "There is this drug being used in Southeast Asia to treat patients like you. It's said to cure them from their illness, but first they go into a state like death. Only works half the time and most people use it to erase their existence so it's illegal pretty much every where else, but I have my connections…"

"That's not what I meant!" the woman roared, leaping to her feet. "Why did you want me alive?"

"Because I still need you," Jim sneered. "You signed a contract with me."

"Information on Sherlock Holmes in exchange for money, but your game with him ended when you faked your death, Moriarty!" the woman spat back.

"Then why did you come to me with information on Alice?" Jim asked her. The woman's face paled and she looked away, leaving the consulting criminal to smile and answer for her: "Because you were desperate. Oh so very desperate. The health insurance and the bills were too overwhelming and you wanted your family to have a life after you died so you came to me with the biggest bombshell of all. It's interesting though, you're willing to put a young girl in danger to protect what's left of your family. But not just any girl…oh no, she may be Sherlock's, but she's just as much yours, isn't she, Jessica?"


	7. Not a Chance

****WOO! This is a long one! And I must say, I am feeling inspired! Special thanks and shout out to NadiaSherlocked for not only an awesome and very kind review but also for helping me bounce off ideas for the next couple of chapters. If I haven't said it enough, YOU ROCK! :)

Also, warning: there is a part in this chapter that gets a little graphic and slightly (okay, very) depressing. It isn't too bad (it could have been worse) but if you don't like blood or sad people, I would skim over the last of Alice's narration right before Sherlock finishes off the chapter. KAY THANKS!

ENJOI

* * *

**Alice**

The next few days after my incident in the hospital were, for lack of a better term, difficult. It wasn't that I felt ill, however, oh no, I was perfectly fine once I stopped puking. And it wasn't because the relationship with my father got rocky either. Oh no, he was finally able to tolerate me and I had a blast running around the streets of London with him and John chasing madmen and (occasionally) insulting clients (the majority of them were stupid anyway). The real problem, however, was with the one person who I never would've thought in a million years could get mad at me:

My brother got into a terrifying habit of giving me the silent treatment.

I felt bad enough for giving him the hospital scare as it was. I didn't even want Josh to tell me how he reacted to the situation. But when I went over to visit the next morning, first he struck me with his pillow when I tried to wake him up. Usually that's normal if he didn't sleep well the previous night, but then! I sat down with Mike and Emily for breakfast and that brat completely ignored me as he passed us and then stared at the empty chair next to me before asking to switch places with Emily!

"Why? Do I stink?" I asked him jokingly as Josh placed a large stack of pancakes in front of us.

Max said nothing but patiently waited for Emily to get up. When he sat down beside Mike he whispered something in his ear, causing the blonde-haired man's eyes to widen like saucers and his jaw to drop. "Tell her yourself, kiddo," he said. Max crossed his arms and glared at Mike who's face paled as he turned back to me and croaked, "your brother…wants me to tell you…that…oh boy…"

"Tell her, Mikey," Max demanded.

"That he hates you," as Mike finished his sentence, he slunk back in his chair as if just uttering the words made him sick to my stomach. I dropped my fork. If I hadn't been so tired of doing so from the night before, I would have turned to the side and started heaving all over again.

"I'm sorry, but what? What did I do?" I squeaked, mortified.

"Mike, can you please tell Miss Rhodes that I will not be speaking to her again for the rest of eternity? Also, tell her that her irresponsible-ness is what led to the consekoonses for her actions," Max stated curtly. I would have collapsed on the floor if his lisp and the fact that he mispronounced "consequences" weren't so cute.

"I can hear you perfectly, Max, and what actions?" I asked, but Max only stuck his nose up at me

"Being unresponsible and acting crazy in the hospital is not a nice thing to do! Tell Alice that I will never forgive her and will ignore her for forever now," was all the boy said.

"I'm sorry I upset you, Max, but come on! I'm okay now! You don't need to give me the silent treatment!" I begged.

"I'm sorry, but do you hear something?" Max asked Emily who, being the best friend she was, held in a laugh.

"Max!"

Before I could melt to a puddle of tears and dejection, my phone buzzed in my pocket from a text. I opened up the messaged and nearly groaned. I hadn't been gone for thirty minutes and already Dad was having some form of separation anxiety.

_New Text Message from: Sherlock Holmes_

_WHERE DID YOU GO? –SH_

I glanced over to Emily who laughed at me as she read the text over my shoulder. "Aw, Allie's a Daddy's Girl!" she teased.

"Trust me, I'm anything but," I rolled my eyes as I texted, _Across the street, genius. Where else would I be?_

Moments later, my phone buzzed again with an even more panicked sounding text: _WHY ARE YOU ACROSS THE STREET? I'M BORED AND YOU WALKED ACROSS THE STREET! Are you alright? Is John with you? -SH_

_No, I got shot. OF COURSE I'M ALRIGHT! _I typed, the sarcasm leaking into my thumbs, _I'm eating breakfast with Josh and them this morning. Don't you remember me asking you if you wanted to come?_

…_not particularly. So John is with you then? –SH_

_Of course you didn't. I also take it you don't remember John leaving for work a couple hours ago either. Well come on over if you want some pancakes. Hurry before Max eats them all._

And to my surprise, a knock on the door came less than five minutes after I sent the text. I answered it and was almost shocked to see Dad standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets with his gaze fixated on the ground. "Evidently, Mrs. Hudson was out as well…and I'm bored."

"I can see that," I responded, opening the door so he could step in. "What are you going to do when I'm gone now that John has a steady job in the ER?"

"What do you mean 'when you're gone'?" he asked nonchalantly, but I couldn't help but notice his eyes widen slightly.

"You know…in August, when I go back home," I answered hesitantly. "This was only supposed to be a summer long ordeal." I almost asked him if he remembered me talking about that, but I figured I knew the answer already.

"Why would you go back to America?" Dad asked suddenly. "What's there?"

"Uh, school," I replied in near disbelief. Why was he asking me these questions? "Dad, it's my senior year and I have to apply for college. Plus that's where our house is and I have to help out at the diner and get Max to school now that Mom's gone. It's a miracle I've even been able to stay here this long, much less that Max and Josh were able to leave the diner for a week."

"Right, of course," Dad replied curtly then strode right into the kitchen. Upon entering, everyone looked up in near shock to see my father actually joining us for the morning. Max immediately rose to his feet and bounced on the chair, squealing over the fact that his idol was standing voluntarily in the same room as he.

"IT'S SHERLOCK!" he cried out, then pointed to my chair, "Take that seat! Emily switch with me again!"

"Hey! That's my seat, you moron!" I spat, crossing my arms. Max fell silent but scurried over to _my chair_ and pulled it out, motioning eagerly for Dad to sit.

"How…quaint…" Dad managed to say as he awkwardly sat down. I rolled my eyes and pulled up an extra chair, sitting between Dad and Josh. We ate in an almost awkward silence. After an hour, Dad's phone rang: "Hello?"

I couldn't really get much out of his end of the conversation, but I could figure out it was John who later on gave the phone to Molly. When he hung up we were all finished eating so he asked, "Molly needs my input on an autopsy. Care to join?"

I nodded my head and began rising from my seat when I heard Max mumble, "and she leaves again…" My heart broke when I glanced over at the little boy who now sulked in his seat. I glanced over at Mike who gave me a stern look as if to say "take him with you" and I then looked up at Dad with pleading eyes. He crossed his arms skeptically and I turned back to Josh who shook his head but I gave the two the largest puppy-eyes I could muster. Eventually, Josh gave in and stood to clear the table, but Dad still held strong. He could not be swayed by my adorable face. So, I tried plan B.

"Okay, tell John I said hi," I stated, crossing my arms and sitting back down. Dad's face almost turned green and he looked from Max to me and back.

"But-!" he started and I gave him a knowing look. Groaning, Dad then motioned for me to go ahead.

"Max, would you like to join us?" I asked him.

The boy shot to his feet, beaming as he cheered, "Let me get my Sherlock hat!"

"Please don't," I pleaded, feeling Dad's steely eyes on me. I looked up to see his confused and slightly annoyed stare and it was all I could do to say, "He _really _loves John's blog."

Dad was silent for a moment but then asked, "Is that age appropriate?"

I shrugged, "You should see the manga he reads."

* * *

**Sherlock**

He wasn't so sure he wanted to ask Alice what manga was so he clamped his jaw shut. When Maxwell came bounding down the stares running frantically, Alice grasped hold of his hand and led the boy back to his room to pick out some books to read in the case that he got bored. During that time, Sherlock inched over to where Josh stood washing dishes and asked, "What is manga?"

Josh sighed heavily and explained, "some sort of Japanese comic book…he reads a lot of Marvel and DC, but his friends got him into this series called _One Piece _or something and he's been buying all these Japanese comics ever since."

"Right," Sherlock said, pretending he knew what Marvel and DC was. He assumed it was the American version of this "manga" but he wasn't going to bother to ask. When the…children were _finally_ ready to leave, Sherlock led them out the door and hailed a taxi, watching as Maxwell ran frantically in circles, squealing as Alice tried to catch him. Great…he had just signed up to _babysit_ for the day. When the boy was still screaming in the car, Sherlock threatened, "if you don't keep your trap shut I'll have you ejected from the vehicle."

"Dad!" Alice scolded him, her face pale as if she wondered if the detective was serious.

"With your sister," Sherlock added. Alice glared at him but otherwise knew that was as good of a correction as he was going to give. Max stared at Sherlock with wide eyes but shut up after that. But he ran just about everywhere they went. And he _had_ to push all the buttons on the elevator.

And the morgue was on the top floor.

Bloody hell! This was going to be the end of him! They met Molly upon exiting the elevator who upon seeing Max gave Sherlock a horrified look.

"I-I can't take him to the autopsy room Sherlock, I—" Molly stuttered, but Alice stepped in front of Sherlock and put on her nicest smile.

"If he can just see some intestines or something, that'll be fine. I'm sorry, but he's a very persuasive boy," she explained. "Just show him some intestines and he'll spend the rest of the time outside reading. Right, Max?"

Maxwell in turn thought about that with surprising focus before asking, "What about a brain instead?"

"I actually just removed the heart and lungs out of one cadaver. Would those suit?" Molly offered. "But it'll have to be quick."

Max and Alice shared in a long staring contest before the boy finally agreed. He hopped up and down while holding his sister's hand the entire time and cheered when Molly showed him the heart, even begged to let her hold it. When he put the gloves on and held the organ in his hands, however, the boy's face turned green and he promptly gave it to Alice before making himself quite comfortable with the pillow and blanket he had shoved into the bag he brought with him on a bench outside the autopsy room. Sherlock had a feeling Maxwell was done pestering Alice about cadavers after that.

Sherlock watched as Molly led Alice to the victim most recently brought in. Molly showed Alice the briefing and gave instructions on this particular autopsy, showing Alice where and how to make the first incision and which signs of post mortem to look for. Alice worked carefully, her expression both saddened and fascinated by the work she was doing. He remembered vaguely that Alice wanted to become a doctor. As he watched the girl work, part of him could picture a grown woman with the same curly hair and the same dreamy expression wandering the halls of a pediatric clinic and meeting with patients who were excited to see Dr. Rhodes. The only thing that pulled the detective out of his trance was John barging through the doors and grasping hold of Sherlock's shoulder demanding, "Where the hell have you been?"

"I got side tracked," Sherlock admitted. "My apologies. What's going on?"

John plowed down the halls of the hospital with a worried expression on his face. His brow crease was more defined than Sherlock had seen in a while. Usually that crease meant Harry was drinking again, but the only other time Sherlock had seen it that defined was when the detective returned from the grave.

So who was resurrected this time?

John led Sherlock to a patient's room and the detective was surprised to see a shaken Kitty Riley sitting in the bed, her hair strewn about and her hands clasped together nervously. When the journalist met the detective's eyes, she immediately began crying and begging for his forgiveness over and over again. When Sherlock finally got tired of her nonsense, he spat, "just be lucky I have a daughter with a conscience or else you would be long dead in that power grid. I hope you know about the gas because don't think I'm not blaming you for what she had to go through yesterday. Now tell me what you have to say or I am leaving."

Kitty whimpered for a moment but finally mustered, "H-He knows about your daughter. Richard Brooks—I—I'm so sorry, I could have sworn he was telling the truth. He hid his identity so well, I—"

"So you're saying that Moriarty is the one who kidnapped you?" Sherlock asked. Kitty nodded her head, tears streaming down her face. A nerve snapped somewhere in the detective's brain as he asked, "what do you mean he knows about my daughter?"

"Her name is Alice Rhodes, correct?" she asked. Sherlock nodded his head suspiciously. She didn't seem to be manipulating the detective. She seemed to scared out of her wits to be pulling anything on him. "Listen to me, Mr. Holmes, I don't expect you to forgive me but you have to believe me! Alice Rhodes is going to die!"

Suddenly the infant's face and Dr. Rhodes both flashed across Sherlock's mind. "Why do you say that?"

"Richard—I mean, Jim Moriarty…he…he knows about Alice. Not just that, he knows everything about Alice. He came to me several weeks ago posing as Richard Brooks again and was encouraging me to write this story on Sherlock Holmes' illegitimate child. He knew everything about her. He knew she was looking for you. He knew she was from the United States—even which part of the country. He knew about her half-brother and her stepfather. He knew about her mother's death. He even knew how she became your child! Mr. Holmes, he knew about her mother's diary and how Alice used it to track you down!" Kitty wept. It took everything in Sherlock's power to keep his jaw from falling to the floor.

Tentatively, the detective asked, "That doesn't make sense. How could Moriarty know about that?"

Apparently, the question was too unnerving for Kitty to handle as the woman broke down completely and began sobbing. John walked over and placed a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder, his eyes drifting up to the machine that was measuring her heart rate. "Sherlock," the army doctor said uneasily, "I think we should give her a break, her blood pressure is starting to rise."

"NO!" Kitty whaled and suddenly she sprung forward and grabbed Sherlock's shirt, pulling him to her face. "Sherlock Holmes, you have to listen to me. You have to take Alice and run. Run away and don't stop! There will be nowhere to hide but you can't let Moriarty anywhere near her! He won't just kill her, he'll destroy her!"

"But why?" was all the detective could think to ask.

The journalist suddenly calmed down and retracted from Sherlock and resumed weeping as she explained, "the day I sent my story on you to my editor, he turned the article down. I spent so long tarnishing your name that when you returned and disproved everything I wrote about you, my colleagues lost confidence in me. I tried so hard to find evidence to prove my name, to prove Richard Brooks' name, that when I sent the story in, my editor told me to disregard you completely. I had become obsessed with you. The man who took months of work and climbing to the top and just trampled over it. All of my sources had been lies. When I insisted that this was true—I had even found a receipt with Alice Rhodes' name on it—my editor told me that if I didn't find proof of my claim by the end of the day I was fired. I went to the address Richard had given me, but for some reason a woman opened the door. She knew who I was and ordered me to give up on the story, that the facts were true but only a trap. She said that Moriarty needed me as bait. She even took me to his computer and showed me every file he had on record of both you and Alice. There were even copies of her mother's diary. She told me—she told me what Moriarty had planned for you…oh my god, Mr. Holmes I really am sorry…"

"A woman?" Sherlock asked. Out of everything she said, for some reason, the woman was the most startling thing out of Kitty's story. "Who was this woman? A girlfriend?"

"No," Kitty wept. "She said…she was the only woman you ever loved."

"Irene Adler?" Sherlock guessed. She was the only woman that seemed to fit that criterion.

At that, Kitty laughed, "she also said that's what you would say if I told you about her. She wouldn't tell me anything on your relationship other than that."

"Who was she?"

"I don't know," Kitty cried.

"What did she look like? I have to know!" Sherlock demanded. Without realizing it, he grasped hold of Kitty's shoulders and was shaking her almost violently. What about this was so unnerving to him? Other than the risk to Alice's life of course.

"She said you named Alice, but she didn't think you would realize that," Kitty explained.

"Appearances, Kitty. Now!"

"I'm thinking!" Kitty screamed back. She then paused, deep in thought before finally saying, "She had dark eyes. A square face. She was beautiful, very slender. She looked as if she had recently been sick but was recovering. American accent. Her head looked to have been shaved several months ago but her hair was growing back."

Sherlock's hands fell to his sides. Dark eyes, dark hair, American accent, claims to be the only woman he loved, but not Irene Adler. The woman didn't mean love in terms of sentiment. She meant love as in the verb, the act of _making_ love. The act of conceiving a child. But that wasn't possible…

"Sherlock?" John hesitantly asked after the detective's long silence.

"Did she give you a name?" Sherlock asked Kitty in a soft voice.

"I'm sorry?" the woman asked. Sherlock rose to his feet, towering over the woman.

"A name, Kitty, did she give you her name?" Sherlock demanded. Kitty trembled, her mind searching for the answer.

"She said it wouldn't mean anything to you—"

"I don't care! What was her name?"

"J-Jessica…Jessica Bloomington," Kitty whimpered. The room started spinning violently. Sherlock hadn't realized that he was collapsing until John took hold of the detective's arm. "I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes," Kitty mustered, "I am so sorry. London just isn't safe anymore."

"Sherlock," John said in a low voice. The detective jumped and stared up at his friend before straightening himself.

"That's all I need, Miss Riley, thank you," Sherlock choked before sprinting out the room and down the hall, not seeing Lestrade approaching him until both men had crashed into each other and fallen on the floor.

"Blimey, Sherlock, what's the matter?" Lestrade grumbled, rubbing his head as he stood. Sherlock sat up slower, glancing behind him to see John running towards the two. Sherlock stood and opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly found that he was at a loss for words.

"Moriarty's back," was all he could say that was intelligible, "call everyone you have. Find him."

"What are you talking about?" Lestrade asked in disbelief. "And even if he were still alive, where would we start? The man's like a ghost, he's impossible to trace."

"Well, you can start by keeping a close eye on Alice," Sherlock stated. When Lestrade didn't seem to understand, the detective leaned closer and fought to maintain his composure as he whispered, "that wretch wants to kill my daughter."

The inspector's face paled as he jaw fell, but he managed to nod, "right away."

Sherlock left the inspector to his job before he could say anything else and started straight for the morgue. He needed to find Alice.

"Sherlock!" John called out, finally catching up to the detective, "What is all this about? What's wrong? Who is Jessica Bloomington?"

"Use your head, John!" Sherlock scolded. "Is there any other woman-_American_ woman—that you know of named Jessica?"

"Well, Allie's mom," John stated.

"Oh, why is the common wealth so stupid?" Sherlock asked himself with a shaken voice, he was too horrified by the fact to cringe at Alice's nickname. "Think, John, just think! Who do you think that woman—that hideous, treacherous woman—leaking information on Alice is?"

"I'm not sure I follow," John admitted.

"What do you know about Alice's mother?" Sherlock asked, redirecting the topic.

"Her name is Jessica Rhodes and you went to school with her before she married Josh," John stated.

"Correction: _was_ Jessica Rhodes. According to records, she died of brain cancer, but not only that, you are missing one crucial fact that is staring you straight in the face."

"And what would that be?" John asked, sounding quite annoyed.

"Josh's surname is Bloomington," Sherlock stated, continuing forward as John stopped dead in his tracks.

"No," John gasped. "Sherlock, you can't seriously believe that she's—"

"No I can't," Sherlock stated, cutting John off before he could say anymore. "Somewhere some one is pretending to be the one person in this world that could ever pose a threat to me while someone else is posing as the one person that could ever pose a threat to Alice. Why? Probably to get to us. Why they want us? I haven't the slightest clue. But enough chatting for now, John, you aren't to utter another word about the topic until I say so, do you understand?"

* * *

**Alice**

My jaw dropped to the floor. Molly looked away uneasily, her cheeks flushed. I had always known in the back of my mind the fact the she had just told me, but to hear the words come out of her mouth as just unbelievable:

"I think I love Sherlock."

"Oh, Molly," I gaped. Suddenly, it all made sense! That look of longing in Dad's eye, the (extra) awkwardness around Molly, the fact that he went to her to help cover up his "death", and her unending praise of him and her tireless desire to help him with anything! It was perfect! Without thinking, I lunged towards Molly and clasped her hands tightly, asking, "Can I set you two up?"

"What?" Molly shrieked, her face turning beat red. She withdrew her hands from me and turned away, "Oh, Allie, that's kind of you to offer but…I don't think your dad even _sees _me. I've tried to capture his attention before but…he just doesn't care for me I don't think."

"Are you kidding me?" I gasped. "Molly, have you _seen_ him? He's only ever awkward—by his standards at least—around you! And have you ever seen the longing in his eye? There's someone out there who has stolen his heart, but he won't ever admit it. Plus, you're the only other woman he ever hangs around!"

Molly looked at me with hopeful eyes before she drew back into herself with uncertainty, "what about your mum?"

"Well…" I cringed, searching for the right words, "Mom was in unusual circumstances and Dad was…he claims he was experimenting. I can guarantee even the most unsociable of people have had more of a love life than my father. Trust me on this."

"You really think I have a chance with him?" Molly asked me suddenly. I turned to her, but my smile fell when I realized that I couldn't give her my word, nor was I sure that it was Molly that he was longing for. All the signs pointed logically towards her, but Dad was the one person who seemed to defy all logic.

"I think it's a strong possibility," I answered finally. "I can ask him about it if you want, then let you know whether or not to go after it."

Suddenly, the woman's face lit up like Christmas and she pulled me into a tight embrace, squealing, "Oh! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

"No…problem…" I gasped, unable to breathe because she was holding me so tight. Over her shoulder, I saw Dad come strolling into the room, his face paler and his expression slightly more panicked than before. He knew something. Something bad. And I couldn't help but wonder if it was about me.

Molly let go of me and turned to find Sherlock, her smile too falling, but more out of anxiety than anything else. Masking my unease, I grabbed Molly's hands and assured her, "Give me some time to ask. I have to wait for the right moment. But I'll come to you as soon as I know the answer, okay?"

"Of course, thank you, Allie," Molly said with the most sincere smile. I then turned back to my Dad who motioned for me to leave.

"Are you finished here, Alice?" he asked. I nodded my head and he said, "then you're wasting time. Let's go."

"Yes sir," I replied, glancing back at Molly with confusion. What had gotten into him? We grabbed Max and took him home before returning to 221B. Dad was silent the ride home. Not able to take it anymore, when we walked into his flat I asked, "What's wrong?"

"None of your concern," Dad replied.

"But it's about me," I deduced. Dad turned to me with an almost pained expression but said nothing. I took a deep breath, readying myself for the worst before stating, "If John found something…on the tests I mean, you don't need to wait for him to tell me. I can handle the news."

"What?" No, no, no! Alice, it's nothing along those lines, I swear!" Dad almost started laughing and it felt as if my lungs collapsed on me as I fell to the couch in relief. Dad pulled a bag of toes out from inside his coat and took them to the fridge, letting out some disgruntled noises as he moved the cheese and deli meats out of one drawer to make room for his new prize. I wasn't sure I wanted to know, but I asked anyway.

"Why are you putting toes where the cheese was?" I asked, watching as Dad shamelessly tossed the cheese-sticks away. Man…and they were Mozerella too…

"I am measuring the amount of nail growth after amputation and/or death," Dad explained as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"You threw out. The cheese-sticks," I stated again, staring at the box of perfectly good Mozerella sticks lying on the floor and flattened with a good amount of bodily fluid that leaked from the bag soiling them.

"And? No one eats those, I don't know why John buys them," Dad mumbled.

"I eat them!" I shouted, "And I bought them! With my own money! Dad! You threw out my cheese-sticks!"

Dad dropped the bag of toes on a package of turkey slices and picked up one of the flattened sticks. "They can still be salvaged. You could make quite an experiment out of them…though I don't know if you'd want to eat them as it seems fluid has leaked into them…they need to do a better job of vacuum sealing these things."

"They were sealed just fine until you stepped on them and got your toe juice all over them!" I spat. "Those were my cheese-sticks!"

"And this is my fridge," Dad pointed out before picking the bag up again and shoving it into the drawer. I glared at him but realized I really couldn't argue with that statement, as much of a sin it was to ruin perfectly good cheese-sticks. Suddenly, however, Dad's calculating grin fell and he walked over to sit next to me on the couch before asking, "Alice, how do you feel about leaving London a few weeks early?"

* * *

**Sherlock**

Alice's reaction couldn't have been worse. She immediately started shouting incoherently and pacing nervously around the flat, wondering what it was she had done wrong, almost breaking down into tears at some points during her ridiculous monologue.

"Alice! Calm down, you've done nothing wrong," Sherlock said, finally grabbing Alice's attention again. He had done so by shouting several times and grabbing hold of the girl's wrists and shaking her a few times. She had shut her mouth but avoided eye contact, leaving the detective no choice but to grab either side of her face and force her to look at him. "And I don't want you to go."

"Then why would you suggest that?" Alice asked, her lip quivering slightly. Sherlock sighed heavily. She seemed so nonchalant about the subject earlier the way she casually brought up her coming departure, but now looking in the girl's eyes, the detective realized that leaving London would be harder on Alice than either of the two had realized.

"Well," Sherlock began, searching for the words to say that wouldn't sound like a lie. He still doubted that Jessica Rhodes (now Bloomington) was alive, but he didn't want Alice to know about the possibility, and certainly not that the woman was leaking information that could kill her. "It is as we have both said several times, you're spending your entire summer away from home. Away from your friends. Granted, you have Mike and Emily, but they won't leave until you do and they're away from their families. That's got to be hard, Alice. Hard for all of you."

Alice once again averted her gaze. Her mouth hung open, fighting the words, but her tongue still slipped and she admitted sadly, "What friends? Mike and Emily are all I have. Besides, seeing me wasn't the only reason Josh came here. Mr. and Mrs. Jones, their parents, didn't realize they would be gone this long and they're demanding they come home at the end of the week with Josh and Max. I found out this morning."

Oh.

"Will you be going with them then?" Sherlock asked. He wasn't sure whether it was to his relief or dismay when Alice shook her head.

"I told Josh I was using my own money to pay for the trip back. All he did was buy the ticket to get me here. My money, I come back when I want," Alice explained.

"But Alice," Sherlock sighed. How was he going to pull this off? If she had been anyone else, Sherlock could have easily come up with some insult or a lie that would send her running home but this was Alice and she would see right through anything that didn't have a valid point behind it. Plus she was…she was…well, she was his daughter.

And there he went! Being sentimental again!

"If you don't go with them, surely you'll be lonely here," Sherlock finally said. Alice's eyes widened as she stared at Sherlock as if to just realize that fact. The detective built off of that by saying, "Not being near friends or family, and I'm hardly your family. You'll get bored and lonely."

But Alice still shook her head fervently, "But Dad…I was lonelier at home! And yes, I'll really miss my friends and Max and Josh, but they don't know what my life is like. I mean, they do, but they don't understand my point of view. And I've only just met you…and you're my dad! And…I've learned more from you in under two months than I have from anyone else in the past seventeen years. Living the rest of the summer without them won't feel any more different than life before meeting you, John, Lestrade, Uncle Mycroft, and Molly. It won't."

"But school, Alice," Sherlock pointed out, getting desperate. "Alice, you have to get ready for school and apply to University. It's difficult enough getting into college, but being accepted to a Pre-Med program! You should allot yourself plenty of time to—"

"Why are you even pushing this?" Alice asked suddenly, pushing Sherlock away. Her eyes looked more vibrant than usual surrounded by the redness that was forming. Sherlock couldn't understand it, but for some reason he was breaking her heart. And he was regretting it. "I don't know if you get it by now, but I'm going to community college next year. If even that! There's no applying to any Pre-Med program for me!"

"But," Sherlock started, completely dumbfounded, "you want to be a doctor—"

"Wanting to be something and actually having the ability to become that are two completely different things," Alice spat back. "Sure, Mom pulled out her life insurance to pay for college, but that's not going to me! Max is the smart one of the family; he can get out of that stupid town easily. And Josh keeps saying we have all this money, but I can't bring myself to believe him. You should have seen the medical bills we got! How we even managed to keep the house—no, how Josh even thought he could write a check to pay for my plane ticket here is a mystery to me! If we really do have that money, then Mom must have done something stupid again. She had to have. And I'm not going to be any part of that, even if it means turning down college!"

"You don't have to turn down anything!" Sherlock found himself shouting back. "Alice, you're brilliant! Bussing tables for the rest of your life in some barely afloat restaurant is beneath you! You could get scholarships! It would seem that every school would be begging to have a mind like yours in their halls."

"You should seem my grades!" Alice screamed at the top of her lungs. "They said I had ADHD and some other plethora of mental disorders. I can't sit still in a classroom. The only classes I get grades above a C in is science. Do you know what I got on the ACT last year? A 19! A bloody stupid 19! Most colleges won't even look at you if you're score is lower than 24! I have test anxiety! I can't sit still for that long, and whenever I read the questions, everything swims together and I start overanalyzing the scenarios and I can't narrow the field down! They said I was an idiot, Dad. They told me I was mentally handicapped. I didn't realize that all this was because I was your daughter!"

"Obviously, they're stupid and couldn't see that for themselves," Sherlock stated, not knowing what else to say, "I never did well on tests either nor did Mycroft. And look at your uncle. He is the British Government! You struggled because you saw everything but didn't know how to focus on what you wanted to see, but now you do. You have done phenomenal helping me on cases, Alice. Give yourself a chance."

"Well, I gave up on that a long time ago," Alice sulked. She turned slowly in a circle before finally saying, "Being around you…I haven't been this confident in myself since I started dating Michael. Before that, I was at a very low point in my life. In some ways I still am and I just can't go home, Dad. I can't. I don't want to face what's back there. I don't want to feel like a freakshow anymore."

Some force must have taken control over him because the next thing he knew, Sherlock Holmes was pulling Alice into a tight hug whispering, "You are not a freakshow, you're my daughter." When he realized what he was doing, he was holding Alice's head to his chest while running his thumb through her hair as his chin rested on the top of her head. Alice suddenly started crying and buried her face into his chest. The sentiment was overwhelming; Sherlock didn't understand what he was feeling, but a single tear fell from his eye and he managed to joke, "Granted, sometimes to two are easy to confuse with one another."

Alice gave a weak laugh and whimpered, "Don't make me leave."

And here, he thought he was going to protect Alice's well being and get her out of the country, "You know I'd never want that."

* * *

**Alice**

I sat on the edge of my bathtub, the water running down my naked body, just like every other time this happened. It was dangerous for me to take showers at night. I had to do them in the morning when everyone was waiting for me to emerge with a happy mask on or else this would happen. But I forgot to shower that morning as I was too busy seeing Mike, Emily, Max, and Josh off at the airport. Dad and John were both exhausted and chose sleep over their current case leaving no one to wait for me. No one to want me.

Voices rang in my head as I sobbed. They all hated me. They hated me so much they pretended to like me. There was no way Emily actually enjoyed being around me. There was no way Michael could love me. Even Josh couldn't consider me his daughter. All I did was let Max down. Scabs reopened and fresh wounds bled out as I cried. I was falling apart and there was no one to put me back together. I thought I had healed, but the new and old wounds only grew. There was no way out of this, I only fell further and further. At times I didn't even know if I deserved to live. All I did was dig deeper and deeper until the pain numbed and I couldn't think anymore. Perhaps they were right after all…I really was a freakshow.

But then something different happened. As I cried and dug further into myself, in the midst of the darkness I saw a light. A slightly cynical and insulting light, but it pierced through the darkness nonetheless, and in the silence I heard my father's voice call out, "You are not a freakshow, you are my daughter!"

The words from only a few days ago pulled me out of my trance with a start and I slipped off the edge of the bathtub, nicking my ankle with my razor blade as I dropped it. My arm burned and tears streamed down my face. I glanced down at the now crimson floor of the bathtub and carefully picked up the razor blade. I held it in my bloody hand, staring at it. What was I doing? Suddenly, words from my friends and family rang through my ears from Mike's "I love you" to Mom's and now Dad's "Goodnight, Alice in Wonderland" and I realized that I was loved. In a panic, I pulled the curtain of the bathtub and chucked the razor blade as hard as I could. I knew I would have to find it later to avoid stepping on it, but in that moment, I didn't care. I stared at my other arm, partially horrified with myself and partially doubting my epiphany from just moments ago, not knowing what to think, I cradled it to my chest to stop the bleeding and sobbed.

* * *

**Sherlock**

This was ridiculous. The criminal Underworld was silent and Moriarty failed to show his cowardly face the rest of that summer! And what's more, Alice was acting strange.

London may have had a milder climate than the southern United States, but even Alice couldn't be cold enough to wear long sleeves and blazers every day. He couldn't figure out what was wrong with her, but for some reason she had drawn into herself more since her friends left and on some days she held her right arm to her body as if to nurse it. As the weeks wore on after her friends' departure and after one more visit from Maxwell and Josh, Alice started to perk up again and for one week towards the end of July, she was the happiest Sherlock had seen the girl. Even when he left the second time, Josh commented on how much more relaxed Alice seemed. Her last few days in London, however, after Alice called home and subsequently purchased a plane ticket using John's laptop (Sherlock didn't bother to look for his. It was…somewhere in the kitchen), she fell silent yet again. Finally, after spending the morning in boredom trying (and failing) to focus on crap telly with John, Sherlock stomped up the stairs to Alice's room and forced the door open.

"We're going out—Alice?" Sherlock announced, but fell silent when he saw a rather large amount of blood on his daughter's bed. Alice shrieked and fell to the other side, cradling her arm on the way down.

"DAD!" she screamed, her face flushed. She started yelling at him for knocking, but Sherlock's eyes were fixated on the blood that stained her sheets. He glanced up at Alice who wore nothing more than a camisole and her underwear, but he couldn't help but wonder why her arms were crossed so tightly.

"Let me see you," Sherlock demanded. Alice backed away and shot Sherlock a nasty glare.

"Not a chance!" she spat.

"Then tell me why you're bleeding," he ordered.

"I'm not bleeding!"

"Then explain this!" Sherlock pointed at the blood spatters. Alice glanced down at her bed, her face paling to a shade of green. When she failed to respond, Sherlock couldn't restrain the panic that rose in his chest. "Alice. _Now._"

It took her a moment, but when the girl stuttered, "Wh-When you're a girl…" the detective suddenly felt like an idiot.

"Oh," he breathed, suddenly sick to his stomach. "Nevermind."

"Yeah…" Alice muttered, avoiding eye contact.

Sherlock shifted on his feet uncomfortably, wondering how to diffuse the situation when he suddenly remembered why he went to her room in the first place: "Let's go out for breakfast, shall we?"

That girl must have had fun matching her wardrobe to her hair because when Alice replaced the dark purple with lime green, her shirts suddenly became more vibrant in color. She even bought scarves to match the atrocious hair color. Being her last week in London, however, Sherlock couldn't bring himself to protest.

They sat outside a café drinking coffee and eating breakfast in silence. Alice kept glancing up at the detective periodically as if fighting whether or not to ask a question that had long been on her mind. When he couldn't take her hesitance any longer, Sherlock finally brought himself to ask, "What is it?"

"I'm sorry?" Alice asked, jumping slightly.

"There's been a question on your mind for the past month now, what is it?" Sherlock asked. Alice looked down at her plate and blushed.

"I was just wondering…" she began, "…has there ever…been anyone?"

"I beg your pardon?" Sherlock asked. What part of that question even remotely made sense?

"You know…have you ever been with anyone? Besides my mom of course," Alice managed to choke out. "Just curious is all."

"I don't particularly see the point in affairs, Alice. I spent that time with your mother primarily because I was tired of the pompous men in my dormitory asking when I was going to get a girl and I also wondered what the fuss was about. Granted, I'm very glad I did that of course but—"

"No, no, I understand," Alice smiled, her face growing even redder, "but I was just wondering if…you've ever had an actual girlfriend before."

"As I said, I don't see the point in affairs. Nor relationships for that matter," Sherlock spoke in a low, methodic voice. Where was she going with this?

"So you've never been in love with someone? You've never felt…sentiment for another person?" Alice asked with wide eyes.

Sherlock hesitated to answer, "Not in the way you're thinking."

"Then in what way?" she replied.

"Alice, why are you asking me these questions?" Sherlock asked, sensing some hidden meaning behind her prying.

The girl heaved a heavy sigh and slunk back into her chair before she admitted, "since the first day I met you, when you told me to look at you and tell you what I saw, I couldn't help but notice this longing in your eyes. It felt as if…almost as if you were in love with someone and waiting for them to notice you…or at least, waiting for them to say something to you because you had no idea how to even express your emotions…and the more time I've spent with you, the more time I've seen it. I don't mean to prod but are you sure there isn't anyone?"

Sherlock sat back in his chair, deep in thought. As much as he ignored the sentiment, he realized that Alice was right. There was someone. Someone who would never see him. He had long accepted that fact, but just as Alice said, as the summer wore on, it was hard for Sherlock to push it out of his thoughts, and every night his dreams were plagued by the infant's face and the lonely army doctor just waiting for the right person to come along but blind to see possibly the only person in the world who loved him the way he deserved to be loved. The thoughts made Sherlock sick to his stomach so he usually avoided it but now…now that Alice mentioned it… "Yes," he choked out, "I suppose there is. Though it would never work out between us. I'm too…detached from emotion and they would never recognize my feelings for what they are. If anything, I've been trying to push them away recently. I can't even spend time with them the way I used to."

At that, Alice perked up and she fought to keep her smile down. "Is that why you've been avoiding the hospital?"

Sherlock felt his stomach flop. How did she…? "Yes…?"

"So this person works at the hospital," Alice stated in the form of a half-question. Sherlock nodded his head slowly. Alice's smile grew and she asked, "Do I see this person often?"

Sherlock laughed at that, "You see them every day just about."

At that, Alice squealed and bounced around their table excitedly before yanking Sherlock to his feet and spinning him around and hugging him repeatedly. Sherlock just allowed the girl to manipulate his movement while maintaining a stiff back as he eyed her with sheer confusion. "Alice," Sherlock stated, trying to bring her back to planet Earth, "What is so great that you had to dance around like a psychopath?"

"First off, high-functioning sociopath, I'm your daughter," Alice grinned. "And secondly, what if I knew for a fact that the feelings between you and this other person were mutual?"

Sherlock gave Alice a confused glare and shook his head, "That's not possible, Alice. There is no way that this person would even see me in that kind of light."

"Oh, nonsense, Dad! They just don't know how to express their feelings with you, that's all!" Alice assured. "Okay, I got this plan, I can't tell you what it is just yet, because even I don't know, but! Give me until Christmas to talk to them. I want to get you two together once and for all! Okay?"

"Yes, but I don't understand why—" Sherlock muttered as Alice started rambling on and on about this supposed "get together". Then another thought struck him, "You're going home in two days."

"So?" Alice asked.

"How do you have until Christmas to talk to them?" Sherlock asked. Alice then looked down at the table and shrugged.

"Well, there's Facebook and Video Chatting and…well…if you wanted me to stop by while I'm on winter break…" Alice muttered and suddenly, Sherlock couldn't contain a slowly growing smile.

"Will your stepfather mind?" he asked. "And your friends, surely they would want to see you on your break."

"Well, the Jones family has a beach house in California that everybody uses and goes to for Christmas and New Years. And Josh told me to see if it was okay with you and John…to see if it was okay for the three of us to spend Christmas in London," she explained.

"It wouldn't be Christmas without you, Alice Rhodes," Sherlock stated, laughing as Alice beamed.

"So like I said! Let me talk to this special person of yours and see if I can't hook you guys up," she offered. "In the meantime, try talking to them more. Start visiting them at the hospital again. Bring them lunch. You know, normal people stuff."

"So what idiots would do," Sherlock clarified, more for his own benefit.

"Exactly what idiots would do," Alice grinned. With that, the two stood and paid the bill before walking home. As they roamed the streets of London, not bothering to get a cab, Sherlock placed his arm around Alice's shoulders and took a deep breath. The crisp London air hadn't felt this good on his lungs in a long time.

"I've been meaning to ask, has that been you singing upstairs in the mornings?" Sherlock asked. Alice blushed and looked down.

"Just in the mornings, yes," she said. "Why, is it obnoxious?"

"No, it's," Sherlock licked his lips, "well, it's quite good actually. Do you sing with a choir back home?"

Alice shrugged and nodded her head, "Yeah. Our school's choir is pretty competitive. We go to a lot of competitions and perform at several school functions throughout the year. We placed at State last year. Couldn't go to Nationals though because our school doesn't have a lot of money, but still, we're one of the best choirs in the state of New Mexico."

"I might have to take a trip to New Mexico then," Sherlock offered, glancing down at Alice who stared up at him with disbelief.

"Really?" she gasped.

"To see my only daughter sing?" Sherlock said, "Of course."

"I guess I'll have to get a solo then," Alice said mostly to herself. Her expression became calculating and suddenly worried. Not sure how else to respond, Sherlock gave the girl's shoulder one more squeeze of what he hoped would be translated as reassurance.

"Solo or not, you will be spectacular," he said. Alice let out a soft giggle and nodded her head, though her smile seemed to be forced. Sherlock couldn't help but wonder if he said the wrong thing.

And then, before he knew it, he and John were exiting a cab and helping Alice check in her luggage as she scrambled to find her plane tickets. John lifted her suitcase onto the conveyer belt while Alice and Sherlock both peaked their heads down the tunnel it passed through, wondering if the blokes on the other side would get her suitcase onto the correct plane. John pulled the two away before they could get into an argument with security and handed Alice her carry-on.

"Did you pack your tooth brush and an extra set of clothes in here?" John asked. He was such a worrier sometimes.

"Yes, _Mother_," Alice teased, "I packed my toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, jammies, sweatpants, and a book for the plane."

"What about your laptop? And your phone charger? You didn't leave that at the flat, did you?" John asked.

To make a point, Alice unzipped the front pocket of her backpack to show the doctor the chords and pulled her laptop out of the second and slightly larger pocket.

"Do you have your passport and your tickets? Do you have your wallet?" John started listing off everything, and before he could take it, Sherlock placed a hand on John's shoulder.

"She's made this trip before, John, she's fine," Sherlock assured. John glanced up at Sherlock in what seemed to be awe but the two locked eyes onto one another for a precious moment. In that moment, Sherlock suddenly felt as if Alice was right. Perhaps there was hope after all. Perhaps John did speak with her.

"Right," John said suddenly, clearing his throat. He turned back to Alice and looked at his watch. "You have a couple of hours before boarding so that should give you enough time to get through customs and grab something to eat. I'll be at work but you can send me a text when you're boarding the plane and Sherlock will have his phone on him, right Sherlock?"

"What?" the detective asked. The new sport jacket John was wearing hugged his shoulders just so…it was quite distracting, really.

"Keep your phone on you today in case Alice calls," John lectured and Sherlock in turn leaned to the side and groaned.

"Yes, yes, of course," Sherlock sighed.

John rolled his eyes and said, "Actually, just send me a text when you're boarding and call me when you land in New York, will you do that?"

Alice couldn't contain her laughter as she answered, "Of course!" and gave John a hug. They held each other tightly for a moment before releasing. John blinked several times, fighting back tears as he brushed the bangs out of Alice's face.

"Take care of yourself, Allie," he whispered.

"Oh, for God's sakes, it's _Alice_!" Sherlock groaned, interrupting the moment.

"You know what? Fine, just hug your daughter already!" John groaned. Sherlock chuckled in response and pulled Alice into a tight hug.

"Despite what John thinks, feel free to text me," he said and received a light giggle from Alice in response.

"I will," Alice said. She glanced back at the growing line outside of customs and sighed heavily, "I guess that's my cue to leave."

The three were silent, unable to move before Alice looked back at the two men and whimpered, "Just one more hug," and neither man could protest nor fight the growing sentiment. The three held each other in an even longer hug and Sherlock really couldn't ignore the feeling of John's breath on his neck. They finally released each other and Alice wiped her eyes. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and started walking away.

They walked Alice to the entrance of customs and Alice opened the door to meet the first round of security guards. She paused and turned back to John and Sherlock, staring at them for a long time before she said, "I came here to find my dad, you know."

John and Sherlock exchanged confused glances before turning back to Alice, awaiting an explanation.

Alice allowed a few tears to fall as she smiled, "I couldn't have asked for a better one."

"Oh stop it," Sherlock sighed. Bloody sentiment making him emotional!

"But not just that," Alice said, shaking her head, "I left New Mexico with a stepdad, and I'm coming back with not one, but three dads. Plus an uncle. Two, if you count Lestrade."

"Three?" John asked suddenly, "I get Sherlock and Josh but…who's the third?"

Alice gave John an incredulous stare and asked, "you're joking right?"

John's jaw dropped and he slowly pointed to himself, but before he could ask the question, Alice pulled both men into yet another hug before she turned back to the line of security that awaiting her.

"I'll call you when I land. And I'll see you at Christmas, by guys!" Alice said, waving as she walked away, "I love you!"

With that, Alice Rhodes was gone and life in 221B was back to normal.

Slight problem, though: Sherlock didn't want it to be normal.


	8. Strange Happenings

****Hey! I'm alive! Sorry I've been spotty on the updates AS USUAL _ my excuse now is college. Because Health Science majors. But to hopefully make up for such misfortunes I give to you a super long chapter! YAY!

Anywho, I do want to warn you that there is a cutting scene in this chapter...a little darker than the last one. This won't be a frequent theme but these things do happen and there was really no way I could advance the story and my character development without emotional turmoil. If it bothers some of you, I'm sorry and you can skim through that part. If I do add anymore scenes like this, which I highly doubt, I will probably change the rating on this story. Just wanted to let you know. Sorry for the dark themes, but I promise you'll get a good laugh out of most of this :)

Anywho, onwards and upwards!

ENJOI

* * *

**John**

Sherlock had always been…strange to say the very least. He always had a bizarre way of showing his emotions. But ever since the summer they spent with his daughter Allie, Sherlock had become more willing to expose his more caring side behind the ice cold heart and stone cheekbones.

And there in lied the greater problem: though Sherlock had "loosened up" as Allie had described when John asked her about it on a recent phone call, he had no idea how to express any sort of emotion beyond disapproval, rage, and contempt.

And now he was bringing John lunch. And it was weird.

At first, all Sherlock did was walk into John's office at noontime and dump a brown paper bag of either ginger ale or milk on the doctor's desk before turning on his heels and leave just as quickly as he came. For the first week, it was nothing more than that, so John wrote it off as Sherlock trying to prove a point (about what, John didn't know, but he had been sour ever since John accused the detective that he was incapable of caring for his ill child, so perhaps that had something to do with it).

But then the daily ritual was met with words—_polite_ words—and sometimes a smile. And then the torn paper bag turned to one that was neatly folded. And then the bottled up beverage was replaced with food—actual food. The scale of the food itself even grew with time. It started out as a loaf of bread with the ginger ale, but later morphed into a sandwich that quickly became grander and more extravagant until the army doctor's colleagues were all envying the bagged lunch John sat down with every afternoon. But the simple token paled in comparison to what Dr. Watson discovered one crisp October morning when a scent too lovely to float through 221B drug John out of bed on his one day off.

Sherlock was making breakfast. Moreover, he was making _French Toast_.

"You're up early," the detective stated with the slightest hint of disdain in his voice. "Too early, actually. Could you go back to bed for me, please?"

John was too busy picking his jaw up off the floor to even question why he needed to go back to bed. "What are you doing?" the doctor asked.

"Making French Toast," Sherlock shrugged. "I remember you enjoyed when Alice cooked this during her stay."

Oh. That explained it. John held in a grin and shook his head. The bloke was missing his little girl, was he? It was…it was adorable! "How did you get the recipe for French Toast?" John asked chuckling. Sherlock turned sharply and gave John a quizzical look, but a small grin traced his lips and his eyes began to sparkle upon seeing the pleasant look on the doctor's face. Strange…John didn't think he looked that ridiculous.

"I called Alice last night and asked her for the recipe," Sherlock asked, a trace amount of his superiority complex pushing through the tone in his voice. The detective then paused for a moment and stabbed a slice of the fried bread with a knife in attempt to lift it up. "Looks cooked enough for me," the detective shrugged before he plated the meal and set it down on the table in front of John—that was another thing: the table had been _cleaned off_ for John to _sit at_—and the doctor had to swallow a lump that formed in his throat.

That wasn't French toast, that was soggy bread! And the middle had been charred black! How could someone even accomplish that? John sighed and hesitantly cut into his "breakfast". It was the though that counted, right?

As the doctor choked down his meal, he glanced up and realized that he was the only one eating. And not only that, but Sherlock was standing over John, his eyes intent, awaiting some response as his hands fidgeted at his sides. It was then when John remembered the numerous times Sherlock slipped some sort of drug into John's food for the sake of his own experimentation.

"Um," John gulped, "What experiment is this for?"

Sherlock almost looked hurt by the question as he shook his head, his curly hair dancing wildly as he did so. He almost looked like a sad puppy as he said, "None at all."

At first John wasn't buying it, but as he continued to eye the detective, the more he noticed the sincerity in Sherlock's voice and actions. The suspicious glare fell to a dumbfounded look. Was Sherlock—was Sherlock cooking John breakfast for the soul purpose of being _nice_? Was there really no other reason behind the gesture? Was that even possible for Sherlock?

When John noticed Sherlock _still_ waiting for a reaction, it finally dawned on the doctor that his flat mate was seeking approval. And this was Sherlock of all people!

John felt his cheeks heat up as he choked down another bite and nodded, "It's very good. Thank you."

Sherlock practically leapt out of his shoes as he bounced slightly and fidgeted slightly in what appeared to be his sad attempt at holding back the excited dance he would perform whenever he got a good case. "Excellent!" the detective cheered as he clapped his hands once before clasping them into fists. He ran in two small circles in search of something before he straightened slightly and cleared his throat. He then turned back to John with a flushed face and choked, "Excuse me."

As the detective retreated to his room, John was left horribly dumbfounded wondering what in the bloody hell had gotten into the detective.

* * *

**Molly**

Oh…sometimes it was just too much to bear. She knew Allie wanted her to wait until Christmas but…the way Sherlock had opened up to Molly in recent weeks—the way he smiled, the stories he told her, the jokes they shared—everything was just falling into place and it was everything the woman could do to keep from confessing her love for the detective right then and there.

But then she had to remind herself that it was Allie who made the sudden growth in their relationship possible. Molly knew that she had to honor her dear friend's wishes. Plus, she was Sherlock's daughter after all.

Oh! If they ever got married…then she could be Allie's stepmum! How exciting!

But then there were days where Sherlock's antics almost made every hope and dream, every baby step closer to the detective seem to mean nothing. There would be days Sherlock would brush past Molly as if she didn't even exist. His mood swings had become even more frequent since the first week of October, and as summer turned to autumn and November, Molly Hooper started doubting that her closeness to Sherlock had all been for not.

Unable to bear the uncertainties, the forensic scientist took a habit of calling Allie as the teenager got ready for bed. One particular evening, however, the sleepiness of Allie's voice and the girl's labored breaths startled Molly to no end. She had noticed Allie sounding more exhausted and a little more detached with every phone call and until that morning, Molly was fearing the cause came from the frequency of her calls. But this night…it sounded almost as if Allie had been crying.

"Hello…?" Allie answered weakly. The panting and sniffles on the other end sent alarm bells ringing in Molly's head.

"Allie, dear, what's wrong?" Molly asked. "You don't sound well at all!"

"It's just late here," Allie answered, almost sounding defeated. The past several nights, Molly had heard the sounds of a shower running in the background and phone call was no different. Molly felt her brow crease. It was no later than when Molly called on other occasions. When greeted with silence, Alice then added, "It's Halloween here. The kids dress up in costumes and go trick-or-treating at night for candy. I had to take Max and his friends out this year and it was exhausting."

"Oh, okay," Molly nodded. That made sense. But that didn't explain the sniffles and the shaking voice on the other end of the line. "Are you sure you're alright, Allie? You sound sick."

"Just a cold," Allie answered curtly. "But enough about me, what's up?"

"Oh, nothing much," Molly lied, forcing a laugh. She may not have been Allie's mum, but even she could tell when that girl was hiding something. "I just wanted to see how you were doing, that's all. How is school?"

Her response was an unusually stiff, "fine."

Molly held her breath but decided to ask anyway: "If I remember correctly, it's about time for you to be applying to Universities now? How is that going? Find any schools that you fancy? If you need me to, I could write you a letter of recommendation—Allie?"

The sounds that emitted from the receiver of her phone were so strange, the only thing Molly could attribute the coughs and the strangled moans were the sounds of someone sobbing. The sounds grew louder but became more muffled and Molly couldn't help but feel her heartrate rise in panick. "Allie, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine!" Allie grunted. The sounds stopped suddenly and the girl said, "Look, I'm sorry, this isn't a good time right now. Can I call you tomorrow?"

"Of course," Molly said. "Allie, listen, if you need anything, anything at all, you know you can come to me, right?"

"I do," Allie replied, but Molly wasn't sure the curt answer convinced her. "I've got to let you go now, I'm sorry. Bye!"

The phone clicked as Allie hung up before Molly could even respond. Her hand lowered to her side slowly as she tried to process what had just happened in that bizarre conversation, but the only thing that came to mind was that Allie was in trouble. And she needed her dad.

Without thinking, Molly was sprinting out of the hospital and hailing a cab to take her to her beloved's home.

* * *

**Alice**

They hated me! They hated me! They hated me! Hell, I hated myself! What was the point in living? I spent every day in torment; I was failing even my science classes. All I did was fight with Mike, and the only time Dad ever did call me was to ask me for dating advice on his "mystery love" (who I knew was Molly, it was just so obvious), and no one actually liked me! I doubted my mother even had an ounce of love for me. All I did was screw her life up and she probably died just to get away from me! I didn't even love me!

Even when Molly called the night before, asking me about school…she was just rubbing it in my face that I would never get into college. I didn't deserve her pretend affection. I didn't deserve anyones! The night was sleepless and all I could do was sob and dig deeper into myself until a crimson pool sat in a bowl at my feet. I was so drowned in the darkness of my own thoughts and tears that I hadn't noticed the sun come up until Josh knocked on the door and called, "Allie! You'll be late for school!"

I suddenly snapped back to reality, my heart racing in my chest as I stared down at the bowl at my feet. Dammit! I hadn't even noticed the time! I couldn't let Max be late for school!

I shoved the bowl underneath my bed and quickly ran to a first aid kid to tape my arm up. I through on a shirt and some jeans before I came stumbling down the stairs trying to get my boots on. Max was standing at the door waiting for me and when I saw those big brown eyes of his and that worried little lip quiver, I knew I had screwed up. The poor kid was going to be late. Again. And it was all because of me.

I didn't deserve to be his sister.

I didn't deserve to live.

I avoided eye contact with the kid as I threw my jacket on and ushered Max out the door. I sped down the highway to get to town as fast as possible with my brother silently holding onto his seat for dear life as I did so. I may not make it to first hour, but dammit, Max was going to be on time!

I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as Max waved goodbye with the saddest look on his face while he ran into school. Even as his teacher greeted him, she looked at me with a sad yet patronizing look as if she knew I was a screw-up. I couldn't take it. I hit the accelerator as hard as I could and drove off to get a cup of coffee. I wasn't in the mood for my chemistry class today anyway.

* * *

**Mike**

He tried everything in his power not to scream at Allie when she came sauntering into the school building with her cup of coffee in hand. She was pale and the dark rings under her eyes only highlighted the fact that her cheekbones were protruding more than usual. She had been dropping in weight recently, and Mike suspected that she wasn't eating. But Emily said that Allie wasn't behaving like she had any specific eating disorders. But that girl was a stick as it was, loosing any body weight was dangerous. And unbelievably ironic for the girl who wanted to be a doctor!

Which led to the other issue: she had skipped every single Chemistry class this week. Mike wasn't even sure she was doing the homework before this either. And he knew that she hadn't even bothered applying to any colleges and her deadline was fast approaching. Not to mention, Allie was his lab partner and this was the second time she cut class and left him on his own for the stupid procedure!

"Allie," Mike scolded as politely as he could as she went up to her locker, seemingly ignoring him. "Where were you this morning? We had a lab today!"

"At Starbucks," Allie replied curtly, avoiding eye contact. "And I'm sure you finished it on time."

"Barely!" Mike hissed. He then let out a soft grunt and shut his eyes tightly, fighting to maintain composure. "Look, that's not my point—Dr. Stoker is furious. She said that if you skip one more time, that you'll fail the class!"

"I'm already failing the class, genius," Allie snapped suddenly. "So what does it matter, anyway?"

"What about Pre-Med? I thought you were wanting to apply to Wash U.," Mike pleaded.

"The Midwest is too far for my taste," Allie scoffed as she took her time strolling to her English class. Mike was pretty sure she was failing that too…and unlike chem, she needed it to graduate.

"That's not my point, Allie," Mike groaned. When the girl decided to breeze right past him, it took Michael all of his will power to not scream in her face when he grabbed her shoulder and spun her around to say, "You've been acting different since school started. You were fine at first, but all of the sudden you just shut down on your classes—on me! And you aren't talking to anybody. Have you even talked to your dad since you got home from London?"

"I've talked to him plenty," Allie narrowed her eyes before she shook herself out of his grasp and spat, "And what I do is none of your business!"

"Allie, I'm just worried about you, is all!" Mike pleaded. "Dr. Stoker has always been your favorite teacher and now you're just blowing off her class! You skipped homecoming, you won't come over anymore, and-!"

"I don't need you to lecture me, Mike!" Allie roared. She spun around so fast and got into his face with such force that the marine-in-training fell backwards.

"You're right, I'm sorry," Mike sighed, not sure what else to do. "I'm just worried. We're all worried."

"Yeah, right," Allie growled, but as she spoke, Mike couldn't help but notice a flash of anguish run across her eyes. The realization hit Michael like a ton of bricks as she continued, "As if any of _you _actually _care_."

Allie stormed off then, leaving Mike in a numbed state. He didn't see her the rest of the day, but as soon as school let out, Mike grabbed his sister and they flew to Mr. Bloomington's house as fast as they could. Allie wasn't home yet, but Max's book bag was sitting on the floor of the entryway and they could hear the sounds of video games up stairs. Strange. Usually Allie picked Max up after school…

The thoughts of what could be going on with Allie only caused Mike to erupt in a panic, but he was shocked to find not just Mr. Bloomington in the kitchen, but also Dr. Stoker and their school's principal. Josh looked exhausted, and he hung up the phone as he looked up at Mike and Emily, he sighed and almost appeared to age by ten years doing so.

"If you two are here to tell me about Allie, unless you know what's wrong with her, you'll have to wait in line," Josh said with more anguish than when Mrs. Bloomington died.

* * *

**Sherlock**

Dammit, cases were never as exhilarating as when John was with him. And even cases with John were a shade grayer than the cases they went on with Alice. Bloody stupid sentiment…

Sherlock trudged through the door and up to his flat, but was in shock to find not just one, but four faces staring at the detective as he walked into his home.

And they all jumped on him at once.

"Sherlock, this is terrible! She sounded so sick on the phone last night!" Molly cried.

"Josh called and said she's flunking chemistry!" John roared.

"Poor dear, is loosing weight too according to that boyfriend of hers," Mrs. Hudson added.

Mycroft stood stiffly with his arms crossed angrily as he stated, "She's not only flunking chemistry. According to her midterm reports, she's skipped almost all of her classes since September. You didn't say anything to Alice to make her think that school was unnecessary, did you, Sherlock?"

Even with a mind like his, it was difficult for Sherlock to process all of the information those present were spewing out at him at once. But the pieces he could put together—flunking chemistry, illness, skipping class, loosing weight—all seemed to be about Alice. Before he could take any more information, the consulting detective pushed everyone away from him and walked towards his place on the couch, shouting, "Alright! Alright! Alright! Quiet! What on earth are you talking about?"

John just about lost it as his face turned red and he shouted, "Have you even spoken with your daughter since she went home?"

"Yes, John! Of course I have!" Sherlock shouted back.

"Sherlock," Mycroft interjected, "When was the last time you spoke with her?"

"A week and a half ago," Sherlock answered. "She said she was busy with exams this week so I haven't bothered her."

"Well, an intervention may be necessary because I've printed off her midterm reports from her school's data base and her progress this semester—especially compared to her last three years—is quite disturbing," Mycroft explained, handing Sherlock a packet of papers. The detective glared up at his brother menacingly. He didn't want to know how Mycroft got hold of Alice's school record, but still he skimmed through it…

Oh…oh dear…

She hadn't been to her chemistry class since September, was failing English, had D's in the rest of her classes., and it looked as if she was skipping choir every other day! And not only that, but Mycroft was right, the other three years of school, her grades were phenomenal. She had several C's, but, especially considering her learning disabilities, she had near perfect attendance and exceeded what Sherlock had done in high school, that was for sure. So why was she all of the sudden…?

"That's not all, Sherlock," Molly whimpered. "I tried to call her last night and she sounded very ill. She almost sounded like she was crying when I talked to her."

"Josh also called this morning while you were out and told me about her chemistry grade," John explained. "He also said that she rarely comes out of her room at home and that she isn't even speaking to Max. And neither of them are eating."

"But Alice—she and Max were fine when we last saw them! What happened?" Sherlock asked, horribly confused. He had noticed Alice's bout of introversion towards the end of her stay, but she was outgoing and happy as ever when they parted at the airport, so why was she doing this? And why couldn't Sherlock figure out what was wrong with her? He was the consulting detective, wasn't he?

Mycroft paced around the flat for several long moments with his lips pursed before he finally spoke, "Sherlock, do you remember your first year of secondary school when our father was ill?"

Sherlock blinked several times. He tried not to think of that first semester when he was a fourteen-year-old boy. School was bad enough and having to deal with their father's battle with tuberculosis only made that year a living nightmare. The detective nodded his head stiffly in response to the question.

"Try imagining what you would have had to deal with had Daddy not survived passed his illness," Mycroft added. Sherlock had no idea what his brother was getting at. Sure that year was terrible, what with his father's illness, his mother's lack of motivation for anything besides sitting by her husbands side, his classmates' constant tantalizing, and not to mention how much Sherlock tried to stow every bout of frustration he ever experienced during that year away only to have it bottled up before it eventually exploded in his face.

And that was when Sherlock finally remembered how Alice was her father's daughter.

Bloody hell! Sherlock had seen the warning signs all summer! Before anyone could say another word, the detective was racing to his room and packing his bags and sprinting out of the flat. John chased after him out of sheer confusion, stuttering, "Sherlock? What are you doing?"

"I'm going to Mexico!" Sherlock declared loudly as he stomped down the stairs.

John raised an eyebrow, "Don't you mean New Mexico?"

"Same thing!"

"No it's not."

"One's old, one's new, what's the difference?" Sherlock asked as he hastily shoved his arms through the sleeves of his coat. John groaned and slowly turned his head towards Mycroft. Apparently Sherlock said something ridiculous by the doctor's standards. Mycroft too looked displeased.

"I do hope you're going with my brother, John," was all Mycroft could say. John cringed in response before walking up to Sherlock and taking the detective's suitcase.

"Give me that," the doctor asked.

"What? Why?"

"If we're going to visit Allie, we need a plane ticket first," John explained, but Mycroft, being Mycroft, reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two tickets for the two. Sherlock snatched one out of his brother's hand before glaring hastily into John's eyes.

"Her name is Alice," Sherlock reminded the doctor.

* * *

**Alice**

This. Sucked. I had enough going on right now, I didn't need people confronting me in my own home telling me to fix my life.

"Allie, just please tell us what's going on," Dr. Stoker pleaded. She was a petite woman who always had her blonde haired clipped tightly back and wore thickly rimmed glasses. Ever since my freshman year, she'd been my favorite teacher and up until this semester, I was always sitting in the front row of her classroom, eager to learn from her. But for whatever reason, I had convinced myself that she hated me so I gave up on trying. I gave up on everyone. They didn't really like me. When I got back from London, I was sure that this year would be my best yet. I finally knew who I was and nothing that doctors or teachers or classmates could tell me was going to hold me back. I was the daughter of Sherlock Holmes! Surely I would earn respect from my peers now.

And in towns like Albuquerque, news gets around quickly. By the first day of school, everyone knew who I was. But the way they treated me was not at all what I imagined. That first day, I dropped Max off at school like usual and parked in the senior parking lot, but from the moment I got out of my car, I knew nothing had changed. If anything, it just got worse. As I walked into the building I was greeted by people speaking to me in poor excuses for cockney as they called me, "Ms. Holmes" and from there, it got worse. Suddenly, people were coming up to me making smart-ass remarks about solving cases for them. Then I was getting slammed into lockers and no one could say two words to me before they broke out into fits of laughter.

But that was nothing compared to when I got to choir rehearsal at the end of the week.

Choir had always been my favorite class. Emily was in it with me and the closest thing I had to a friend group was in choir. My teacher on the other hand…was a little less desirable. It also didn't help that Mom's part-time job before she got sick was assistant choir director with Mr. Cambell. Emily and I were one of four seniors in our choir this year and before the last semester ended we were voted as the captains, so we began our first rehearsal picking out vocal exercises, but it seemed as if everyone was shooting me down with every idea I had, even if it was the same as Emily's (and of course they agreed wit her). Finally, I got so frustrated I stamped my foot on the ground and screamed, "You voted me as your captain, didn't you? So how about you actually listen to me!"

It was then when one of the other seniors rolled her eyes and said, "Please, do you think they actually wanted to vote for you, _Ms. Holmes_?"

"Shut your trap, Valerie," I snarled, "you're just pissed because you didn't get the job."

Behind me, Mr. Cambell cleared his throat and squeaked, "Uh, Allie? Could you come here for a second?"

I groaned and gave Emily a look to tell her to continue without me before I stepped outside the room to hear my choir teacher basically tell me to give up while I was still ahead.

"I don't know how put this, but you need to fix your attitude," Mr. Cambell began the conversation. I just rolled my eyes. He was always telling me this! I was never his favorite, and the guy nearly had a heart attack when captains were picked last year. And as usual, we fell into a heated argument that I was clearly winning until he lost his temper and shouted, "I hope you realize that your mom was the only reason you were picked to be captain this year! Much less make it into this choir!"

I could feel my heart fall to the pit of my stomach as his words cut me like a knife. Out of the corner of my eye, I could barely make out the silhouettes of the girls I thought were friends listening in on our conversation through the other side of the door.

"W-What?" I asked, feeling hollow. Mr. Cambell let out a frustrated noise, but went ahead and continued his confession. The bomb had already been dropped anyway.

"Your attitude sucks, and you are a horrible example to these girls. If I had it my way, you wouldn't have even moved up from the freshman choir and I wouldn't have had to put up with you these last three years. Your mom was the only reason I even considered letting you in, but now that she's gone, I have no obligation to let you be captain any more. I was going to let you down nicely, but since you just have to make things difficult, you should be glad I'm even letting you finish this year off with us. Now get back in there and sit down, because Val is taking your place," Mr. Cambell spat, his words freezing my soul faster than dry ice. I couldn't show my face in choir rehearsal after that. It was one thing getting through class, but the afternoon rehearsals were a nightmare and eventually I gave up on going. It wasn't long after that when I realized that this charade of people pretending to like me—even my family—was probably just because they had to put up with me. Why would they care about me? But no, they had to be persistent and now I was sitting in my living room surrounded by these posers!

Dr. Stoker looked up at me with pleading eyes, awaiting an answer to her question, but when none came, she sighed and said, "Allie, you've been one of my top students since your first day at our school. You've worked so hard and now—now I feel like you're throwing it all away. I know you've been through a lot and I'm concerned—"

"Are you really though?" I interrupted. Dr. Stoker looked at me with a hurt expression. The liar, why was she even pretending to like me anyway? "Are you really concerned or are you just putting up with me out of pity?"

"Allie! Of course I'm concerned! I've watched you grow into a young woman, I am your teacher and I care about you just as I would care for my own children!" Dr. Stoker said with a shaky voice.

"Allie," Josh said in a solemn voice, "Dr. Stoker came all this way because she was so worried about you. I can't believe you wouldn't think that she'd care…"

"Oh she cares alright," I snapped. "She cares just as much as Cambell does!"

"Cambell?" Josh asked. "What happened with him?"

"Oh, Allie…" Emily covered her mouth and started crying suddenly. "You mean you didn't tell him?"

"Tell me what?" Josh asked suspiciously. I shot up to my feet suddenly.

"Don't act like you don't know!" I barked. "All of this is just a lie! Cambell only put up with me for the same reason you all do! Because of my mother. The only reason he even let me into the choir was because he had to work with her! You only put up with me because you were her husband, Josh, and the only reason you guys put up with me is because she's dead and you think you have to be _nice_ but you aren't fooling me!"

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop but I was too deafened by the pounding in my ears to make out even my own words. Emily stood there frozen with her hands covering her mouth as she sobbed. Mike stared at me in shock and attempted to take a step towards me but I only backed away. Josh looked as if someone had just punched him in the gut and Dr. Stoker had tears rolling down her cheeks. For a brief moment, I snapped back to reality and began to wonder if it really was possible for people to actually care about me. Suddenly I wondered if the charade of people pretending to like me was something I had dreamed up out of madness. Suddenly I began to think of the smiling faces that awaited me in London.

Dr. Stoker was the first to speak, "Allie, I am so sorry that happened to you. And I swear, the principal will hear about this firs thing tomorrow morning. You're a talented singer and Mr. Cambell has no right to treat one of his students—especially you—in such a way."

"Thanks but no thanks," I sighed, feeling beaten down. "He's not the only one who thinks of me like that. I'm just a rotten student everywhere outside your classroom anyway."

"Allie, don't say that!" Mike pleaded. He advanced on me suddenly and pulled me into a tight embrace. "You're a wonderful, beautiful, and smart woman. Anyone who can't see that is just blind."

I tried to push away Mike but suddenly, my mind shut down and I couldn't process any form of thought. Before I realized it, I had buried my face in his chest and started sobbing.

* * *

**John**

"Cedar Groves doesn't even exist!" Sherlock snapped, smacking the map so hard, it flew out of John's hands. Oh, he was going to be testy today, was he? Since the duo had landed in Albuquerque, they had been arguing nonstop, fighting severe cases of jetlag, and discovered that the drive to Cedar Groves was farther than any cab was either willing to take or than the two were willing to pay for. Eventually, they gave up and decided to rent a car with a GPS, but those were also expensive and Sherlock just about lost it when he realized that the steering wheels were on the _left_.

"We could always ask the woman standing at the information desk," John offered trying very hard to not to snap at his flat mate.

"No, no, there's no need for that!" Sherlock spat, storming out of the rental car center. "We'll just get a bloody cab!"

Oh, did he always have to be this difficult? John rubbed his temples and sighed. They were beginning to sound like a married couple. This was embarrassing. The doctor looked from the rental car center to the row of cabs sitting outside the airport, wondering about Sherlock's train of thought. The cabs didn't seem too…efficient compared to those in London. And even though the cars were expensive to rent, if they came with a GPS they could get more use out of the car during their stay.

"Sherlock, why can't we just rent a car and ask for directions to Cedar Groves?" John asked, but the detective kept storming out towards the cabs.

"Why would we even bother?" he snapped back.

"Because we can actually use the car and I trust a GPS more than I'm trusting these yellow…wagons…" John cringed. Sherlock scoffed and ignored his friend suggestion completely.

"_You_ can waste your money, I'm getting a cab!" he retorted before walking out, leaving the army doctor alone in a foreign airport.

Shaking his head, John went back into the rental car center and asked the woman at the front desk, "Excuse me, I would like to rent a vehicle with GPS, please? Also, can you tell me where on this map Cedar Groves is?"

* * *

**Alice**

I was trying. I really was. Since my family and friends confronted me the week before, I had been trying to put on a happier face. I had been trying to stay optimistic, and in some ways it got better. Dr. Stoker was helping me get caught up in chemistry, Mike and Emily helped me out in my other classes and I enrolled to community college for the next school year but the constant harassment that greeted me every morning at school seemed to only worsen. Sometimes the day would get better, but no matter how hard I tried, whenever I went to bed at night I would either cry myself to sleep or wallow in my sorrows. Nothing was the same without my mom.

And frankly, I needed my dad now more than ever.

One good thing that did come out of the past week was that Max was talking to me again. Ever since September, he and I both started shutting down and stopped talking altogether and, especially after that intervention, I felt as if I was failing my little brother. But when he came into my room that night and confessed that he couldn't sleep at night nor did he feel like he fit in anywhere since mom had died did I realize that I wasn't the only lonely feeling soul in the world. He had spent every night in my bed curled up next to me since. I will admit, that having the little boy next to me helped me to stay strong at night, even in my deepest of sorrows.

Towards the end of the week, Max was starting to open up again and was bouncing around like the happy little boy he needed to be. I was still feeling miserable deep down, but the wave of emotions were getting easier for me to ignore. By Saturday morning when Josh left for the diner and I was at home babysitting Max, I had almost secured my waves of self-doubt into a cage and was ready to take on the world again.

And that was when the doorbell rang and it all came spilling out in the most humiliating pool of tears to date.

I was cleaning up after breakfast and Max sat in the living room watching cartoons in his pajamas when it rang. I paused what I was doing and let out a soft groan. I really didn't want to deal with people today. I ignored the door for a few seconds hoping the stranger would go away, but when the shrill ring was replaced with three loud knocks, Max had the nerve to call out, "Allie! Someone's at the door!" from the other room.

Uuuuuugh.

"Ignore them, Max and maybe they'll go away," I barked, trying to scrub the crap out of the skillet.

The response I got was a fit of giggles.

"What?" I asked, stopping what I was doing again. His giggles escalated into uncontrollable fits of laughter and when I walked into the other room, I found his face a dark shade of red, he was laughing so hard. I raised an eyebrow and once again asked, "What?"

"YOU'RE JUST LIKE SHERLOCK!" he squealed. He then calmed down enough to wipe his eyes and add, "You're always like this but it's just so funny to see you like your dad!"

I narrowed my eyes and glared at the kid. I wasn't…_just_ like Dad. Just because I didn't want to answer the door didn't mean I was his clone. Dad was…Dad was just antisocial! If the doorbell rang he'd scream at it and tell whoever was there to go away!

Well…then again…I had been known to yell at the person at our doorstep in an assumption that it was some solicitor asking us to donate money….but this was America! It happened a lot!

And just to prove my brother wrong, I stomped over to the door and unlocked it, getting ready to tell the solicitor off in a declaration that I didn't want anything he was selling.

And when John sighed in relief, wiping his brow and saying, "Oh good, I was afraid I was at the wrong house for a moment," it was all I could do to keep from curling up into a ball and sob the rest of the day right then and there. I stood at the door numbly, my eyes fixated on the army doctor who had become a comforting presence I didn't realize existed until I left. While Sherlock Holmes was who I needed my dad to be, John Watson was who I always imagined my dad would be and I hadn't realized how much I had grown to depend on the two until I found myself tormented at school feeling as if there was no one I could confide in.

John's head cocked to the side when I didn't respond to him and he hesitantly asked, "Allie?"

"Oh thank God you're here!" I whimpered as I threw my arms around John. He stepped back in surprise slightly, but after a short moment, he patted my back gently and hushed me with calming words before my whimpers could escalate to sobs. I forced myself to pull away from John and wiped my eyes quickly before Max could see that I was crying, but I couldn't contain my smile as a weight I didn't know existed finally lifted off my shoulders. "What are you doing here?" I asked. I peered behind John at the black SUV that now sat on our street, looking for the curly haired savior I had come to know as my father. "Where's Dad?"

"Oh, we were just starting to miss our newest colleague is all," John explained. "Thought we'd pay you a visit, see where you've grown up. And Sherlock is…well, we had a row at the airport and Sherlock decided to take a cab here instead. It took me so long to get the rental care taken care of, I thought he'd be here by now."

My face fell at the word "cab".

"He _what_?" I asked, horror bubbling up in my chest. Was my father some kind of idiot? Cedar Groves was in the middle of nowhere! You didn't take a _taxi _to get here unless you wanted to get ripped off, mugged, lost, or all of the above!

"Yeah," John sighed curtly, not aware of the huge mistake Dad had made. "He was being difficult and stormed off to find a cab. Said something about American steering wheels being on the wrong side. Though I will say, why on earth would you all drive on the right side of the road?"

I shook my head, not even wanting to answer the doctor's question. "Whatever," I said, "but why would Dad take a taxi? You don't take taxis to Cedar Groves! In case you haven't noticed, we are motel-central middle-of-nowhere New Mexico! Taxi drivers don't know how to get here from the city!"

John's eyes widened in what I mistook for panic. He glanced back at the road leading out of Cedar Groves and let out a few stutters before he turned back to me and asked, "A city? You call that town a _city_?"

I shrugged, "It's not Chicago, New York, or London, or anything, but it's bigger than this place."

John shook his head in a joking disapproval as he stepped inside. I led him to the living room before the relief swam over me again in the form of sheer bliss and I gave John the biggest hug I could manage.

* * *

**Sherlock**

He should have just listened to John.

Not only was this cab driver of dismal intelligence and even less education, but his accent was ridiculous, he had no idea where he was going, they had been driving for two hours, he had failed to fill up his gas tank and now they were stuck in the middle of a desert. And it was hot.

"If you didn't know where Cedar Groves was, you should have told me from the start!" Sherlock spat as he got out of the car.

"I do know where it is!" the cab driver protested in a heavy southern accent. "It just done been awhile since I made the drive and I got turned around a bit, that's all! It's just 10 more miles to town, we can fill up there."

Sherlock stared down the road. Sure enough, at the end of his line of sight and through they heat waves that rose off the ground sat the small humps of what appeared to be buildings.

Town or not, though, ten miles was a hell of a walk, especially in this weather.

"And how, dare I ask, are we going to make a ten mile trek with a broken-down cab?" Sherlock asked as cynically as he could manage.

The cab driver glared at Sherlock, but he almost appeared to have his feelings hurt. "Shoot, you don't need to be no sour puss! It just takes some elbow grease to get this hunk of metal into town. Don't y'all Brits ever do mechanical work up there?"

"Maybe if you spoke intelligibly I would understand what you just said," Sherlock retorted monotonously.

The cab driver responded with a series of giggles as if the detective was the funniest man in the world. "Das right, I forgot it was so darn cold up there! You don't have to work in hundred degree heat! You folks got it lucky, well don't worry, we'll get this taxi to town in no time, I'll even go easy on you!"

He didn't care if he was in the wrong for this one, Sherlock was going to strangle John when he found him!

They couldn't have gone more than twenty feet, but it felt like twenty miles when Sherlock started feeling light headed.

"I don't suppose you have any water, do you?" the detective asked.

"Well, I got a Monster, don't pack no water with me though," the driver shrugged. "And I wouldn't suggest drinking the Monster right now because that just done suck all the water out of your system and you won't want that."

"Of course," Sherlock groaned. The walked in silence for a few more moments before the idiot opened his mouth again.

"So what brings you to a little town like Cedar Groves?" the driver asked.

"My daughter," Sherlock answered curtly. He couldn't help but notice the flutter in his stomach as he spoke about Alice. Did he have to vomit or something? For whatever reason, the feeling felt…nice. The detective continued, "she grew up with her mother and stepfather down here. I met her this past summer, however, and she spent her vacation in London with me and my…flatmate. I'm just returning the favor and visiting her here."

"That's sweet," the driver smiled as he bobbed his head. He then paused and looked up at Sherlock as if he had found the cure for the common cold. "I know you! You're Sherlock Holmes! I didn't recognize you without that hat!"

Sherlock had to hold in a groan on that one. John just _had_ to leave the hat picture on his blog, didn't he! "I am," Sherlock answered.

"That means you're Allie Rhodes's Daddy!" the driver cheered. "I know Allie! I ate breakfast at her Mama's and Stepdaddy's diner every day when they lived in Albuquerque! I knew her for four whole years and she was my waitress every Saturday. Cutest little thing since a slice of pie! And smart too! I was so sad when they went out of business but I did visit Cedar Groves a couple times when I heard they reopened down there. Don't know how they did it in such a small town, but things are less expensive there and I suppose you get Route 66 travelers who stop by to keep the place afloat. But anyway, I love Allie! Nicest little girl I ever met! You know what she told me one time? See, I was homeless once after I dropped out of school and right before I got my job as a driver I went into their diner because I had just enough money for a bite to eat and she was my waitress and you know what she did? She done looked me in the eye and told me everything there was to know about my home life and she done whipped me into shape! Told me I needed to get off my lazy bum and start doing something with my life. She said I was a smart cookie and I need to take advantage of my opportunities! Little harsh the way she said it, but that was just what I needed to get out there and get me a job. I never did thank her, but I always gave her an extra tip when I ate on Saturdays."

As the driver rambled, it was all Sherlock could do to keep from noticeably staring at the driver. This man knew Alice? She had mentioned that her parents owned a diner in New Mexico, but Sherlock never dreamed that he would run into someone who knew her from there. And she said what to that man? Again, the detective wondered the truth behind the story, but the taxi driver seemed a little too stupid to make up an elaborate story such as that, though Sherlock could easily tell that he was over exaggerating slightly. But the part of what she said to the man was true enough.

What the detective found himself saying after that was even more surprising: "Alice does have that way of seeing the best in people. Unlike her father who can never get past the first glance of a blundering idiot."

"Oh, no, Mr. Holmes, I'm sure you're not like that, you're a proper genius, ain't ya?" the driver stated enthusiastically. By this point, they were leaning against the car, not even bothering to push it forward any further. Sherlock gazed off into the desert, thinking back to the short summer he spent getting to know his daughter.

"Though you are correct," Sherlock began, "I'm arrogant and I assume the worst in people and I do no more than put them down in turn. But Alice…she sees so much more than I could ever hope to. She sees individuals for their faults but she can see the good in them as well. She could see the good in me, and that's saying something."

"Sounds like you miss your little girl, Mr. Holmes," the driver bobbed his head as he patted the detective's shoulder. Sherlock resisted the urge to shrink away from the man's touch, but the more he stared at the driver, the more he could see what Alice probably saw. Dropped out of high school. Low IQ. But a hard worker. A drive to never give up. A genuine heart. No wonder Alice gave him that lip the day she served him at the diner. The detective smiled to himself, he could just picture that pointed look on her face and her sharp eyes as she lectured a grown man while nothing more than a teenager with facial piercings and wild pink hair.

In that moment, Sherlock felt something warm in his chest. He was _proud_ to be Alice's father.

"I never did get your name," Sherlock noted. The taxi driver jumped slightly and stared up at the detective with sparkling eyes before he grasped Sherlock's hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Name's Timothy, and it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes!" Timothy grinned. Sherlock nodded his head in response and he turned back to the car and began pushing it.

And for some reason, the car gave an angry hiss in response.

"Woah, there, partner!" Timothy pulled Sherlock away from the car almost on instinct in response to the noise. The hiss escalated and suddenly a loud rattle echoed out from underneath the cab.

"What is that?" Sherlock asked. The sound was bizarre. Nothing the detective had ever heard before, but Timothy seemed to know exactly what it was.

"Sounds like a rattler to me. Either that or a hungry Bull," the driver explained. Sherlock couldn't help but swallow a sudden panic that came crashing through his systems.

He had no idea what a rattler was, but bulls were…they were huge! As the detective glanced around, however, he could see no bulls. So why all of the fuss?

His question was soon answered when an enormous snake slithered out from underneath the car, its tail vibrating madly as it flicked its tongue out at the two humans.

Was that all?

Sherlock scoffed at Timothy's anxiety as he picked up a stick and sauntered over to the reptile. Timothy, in response, shrieked and grasped hold of the detective's shoulders in an attempt to pull him away.

"Mr. Holmes, I'd really recommend you not do that!" the cab driver pleaded.

"Why?" Sherlock asked. "What is it?"

"The speed it's moving its tail at, it's hard to tell," Timothy pondered, "But I dare say that that's either a small bull snake or a big rattle snake. Either way, we shouldn't move this car until it leaves."

"And that could take hours," Sherlock groaned. He ignored the driver's orders and began poking the stick at the snake, trying to push it out of the way. "So it vibrates its tail? Timothy, this thing is nothing more than a limbless, pathetic, reptile that can easily be moved. What can it do?"

Just as Sherlock spoke however, the snake let out another hiss and lunged at him, but the detective retracted in just enough time, however, the snake kept trying to advance on Sherlock, so he maneuvered his stick to hold the reptile back. Okay…so it was aggressive. Big deal.

"Hm…that's awfully aggressive for a rattler," Timothy noted. "But still, I'd recommend you step away from the snake because even though bulls aren't venomous, they pack a punch when they kill."

Sherlock paused for a moment. They were poisonous?

Suddenly a memory flickered in the back of Sherlock's mind as Alice's mocking tone scolded him from months before.

"…_it's New Mexico. And at least down there, we're friendly and know how watch out for rattle snakes unlike you stuck-up morons who can't see a thing with your noses stuck in the air all the time."_

And Sherlock being Sherlock, he did just as Alice had taunted as he turned away from the snake to ask, "rattle snakes are poisonous?" and allowed the reptile just enough of an opening to lunge and chomp down on his leg. It withdrew and then lunged again and didn't retreat until Sherlock had six different puncture wounds on his shin and every muscle in his leg froze up. As he fell to the ground, Sherlock yelped and immediately began to panic. The only thing he could even think to do was scream two words that, in his mind, made perfect sense to say in that exact moment:

"DAMMIT JOHN!"

* * *

**Alice**

John had been here for two hours and there was still no sign of Dad. And, just because he was a cheeky son-of-a-bitch, he wasn't answering his phone.

Josh came home for his lunch break shortly after John arrived and greeted him with a bright smile and a merry handshake as we sat down for a meal. The fact that Dad was still missing, however, had me unnerved. I figured it would take a while for Dad to get here by taxi…but something didn't seem right.

And just to prove my fears, John's cellphone rang in the middle of our meal and as he took the call, his face paled and he leapt to his feet, stating, "I'll be there as soon as I can."

We all looked up at John in alarm before the army doctor stated, "Sherlock's in the hospital. He was bitten by a snake."

And that was all it took for us to leap out of our chairs and sprint out to the cars. I got to my truck first and Josh and Max climbed into the back seat while John clumsily hopped into the front as I backed out of the driveway and sped down the highway thirty miles over the speed limit. At the rate I was going, I was amazed Josh didn't ground me when we did get to the hospital and though it took us thirty minutes as opposed to the usual hour drive to the city, I still felt as though we were too late.

I expected Dad to be laying on a gurney either dead or foaming at the mouth, but he was neither. He looked crazed and sat with a man that I barely recognized as one of our frequent customers at the diner when we still lived in Albuquerque, but other than that, Sherlock Holmes was sitting upright and yelling at the doctors who tried to care for him as if he never left London.

"Dad!" I called out as I ran up to him ahead of the others. I leapt onto the bed he sat on and wrapped my arms around his neck as tightly as possible. Dad held me tightly and panted my name two or three times as if he were scared for his life. I pulled away from the hug and looked the detective over. He was pale and wide-eyed and his right let was elevated with four out of six puncture wounds stitched closed, but he looked fine. I raised an eyebrow, "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright? Of course I'm not alright!" Dad shrieked, running his mouth all over again. As he went on his rant, the nurse to my right rolled her eyes and let out a silent groan as if she had heard this tangent several times already. "Alice, you were right! Rattle snakes! You didn't tell me they were poisonous! And huge! And violent! I was poisoned by a rattle snake, Alice! But-but-but-these idiots won't get the poison out. All they did was cover my wounds but they didn't take the poison out! Tell them to take the poison out! What, is it too late for me? Why isn't the poison out? Isn't this going to kill me? You! Why won't you take the poison out?" Dad snapped at the nurse suddenly, causing her to shriek and scurry away, only to leave my father to let out a series of disgruntled noises.

As Dad panicked, I couldn't help but let my mind wander back to the day I first met Dad, when I gave him a smug remark about turning his nose up at a rattlesnake and getting bitten. If he wasn't in the hospital and I wasn't freaking out over his possible condition, I would have found this exchange incredibly ironic.

I looked over at our old customer, Mr. Tim he called himself and asked, "Was he really bitten by a rattle snake?"

"It was hard to tell, Ms. Rhodes," Tim explained. "It's tail was indeed rattling, but from my distance it was hard to tell what kind of snake it was."

"IT WAS A RATTLE SNAKE!" Dad roared. "HUGE AND VIOLENT! It bit me three times!"

I took in a sharp breath in an attempt to hold back a smug grin. I couldn't be sure, but if the doctor's weren't treating him for poison, I had a feeling I knew where this was going. "You said this snake was large?"

"Huge!" Dad declared. The others finally caught up to me and began to ask Sherlock questions, but halted any interrogation when they walked in on our exchange.

Yep. I knew where this was going. "And it bit you more than once?"

"Three times! Look at these puncture wounds!"

"It sure was aggressive for a rattle snake, too aggressive," Tim added. At that, I started laughing. Dad only glared at me and hit me upside the head.

"Hey!" I snapped at him.

"I was bit by a rattle snake and I'm dying so you're going to _laugh_?" Dad roared. I shook my head and only laughed harder.

"Dad! That wasn't a rattle snake!" I told him, "It was a bull snake! Those aren't poisonous. They imitate rattlers and are very aggressive, but they aren't poisonous."

Suddenly, Dad's face fell from rage to pure confusion. "So…I'm not dying?"

"No!" I told him, and all present sighed in relief. We sat and visited as the doctor came to check on Dad's wounds before he was finally patched up and discharged. Tim left to continue his job. As we piled back into my truck, Dad took the front seat beside me; it was only then when I managed to ask the question that had long been on my mind: "Dad?"

"Yes?" the detective responded, curt as ever.

"Bull snakes are very aggressive," I began, "but they won't attack you unless they're threatened."

"And?" Dad retorted.

"What did you do to provoke a bull snake?" I asked as I pulled onto the highway and drove home.

Dad was silent.

"Sherlock?" John asked. "What _did_ you do?"

Again, Dad said nothing.

"Come on, Dad, tell us," I nudged. Dad finally let out a long sigh and looked out the window, away from me.

"I…" he began. The detective pursed his lips together firmly, trying to fight the fact that I had proven him wrong from day 1 when he finally confessed, "I turned my nose up at it."


End file.
